


Into The Breach

by adamwhatareyouevendoing



Series: Side By Side [3]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-08-27 21:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16710469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamwhatareyouevendoing/pseuds/adamwhatareyouevendoing
Summary: After a period of relative peace, Uhtred and Leofric are drawn back into the fight for Wessex.An AU for the third series.





	1. Episode 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, here we go again! Leofric will live on in our hearts and this fic forever ♥️
> 
> I'm hoping to watch an episode a week (although it might go a bit iffy over the holiday season) so will try and get a new chapter up every week! One down, only nine more to go...

Over the years, they settle into something close to routine. When they are not dealing with Danish raids along the coast, they spend their time at Uhtred’s estate in Coccham.

There is very little in the way of danger, until the day they receive the news that Uhtred is to be sent to Lunden to negotiate a peace with Haesten, commander of the army that was once Sigefrid’s. A hush descends over the usually noisy hall.

“I should go with you, Lord,” Leofric says, exchanging a worried glance with Gisela over Uhtred’s shoulder. After all, it is unlikely that the Dane retains any good feeling towards him after the defeat at Beamfleot.

“No,” Uhtred says, but it is the warmth in his voice that dissuades Leofric from arguing more than the word itself. “I will take Sihtric. He may be more willing to accept it coming from Danes. We are proof that such an alliance is possible.”

“Are _we_ not proof of that?” Leofric asks him later, when they are alone in the hall together. There is a hint of bitterness in his voice that he cannot entirely mask.

Uhtred’s eyes are kind. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I do,” Leofric agrees, immediately chastened, “I’m sorry. It’s just—I haven’t felt this powerless in years.” He tries unsuccessfully to banish thoughts of Werham, and their disastrous trial in front of the Witan. His hand forms a fist on the table in front of him.

“I know,” Uhtred says quietly. He does not offer an apology, and Leofric does not expect one.

“I became your man so I would never have to leave your side again. The thought of you going somewhere I can’t follow...” His throat closes around the words, but it doesn’t matter—there is nothing left to say anyway. He may not like it, but he understands Uhtred’s reasoning. “Just, be careful.”

Uhtred presses his hand quickly. “I will,” he promises. He looks as though he means to say something further, but doesn’t know how to voice it. Instead, he fixes Leofric with his surest smile. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Luckily, he is right.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, the King’s poor health begins to worsen. With reports of Danish forces amassing in the east, they spend increasing amounts of time in Winchester, training with Alfred’s army. It is only a matter of time before the request is made that they return on a permanent basis.

Uhtred, unsurprisingly, is vehemently against the idea, until Gisela reasons that he will see more of her and the children if they make the move together. It is a particularly convincing argument considering she is once again with child.

Uhtred meets Leofric’s eyes over the table. “Do you agree?” he asks.

“I think we have no choice,” Leofric tells him honestly, “but I also think it would be wise. We are sworn to protect him.”

“ _I’m_ sworn to protect him,” Uhtred says, mostly just to be contrary.

“And I’m sworn to protect _you_ ,” Leofric smiles. “I agree with Gisela. We go.”

 

* * *

 

They make the journey once spring arrives.

Uhtred lets himself into Leofric’s house the morning they are due to leave, clearing his throat. Leofric looks up from where he is packing the last of his meagre belongings into a bag, and almost laughs at the sight. Uhtred has styled his hair in a fashion that reminds Leofric of Sihtric.

“What do you think?” Uhtred says, stepping close.

Leofric cups his face in one hand, thumb scuffing against his cheek. “You look like a Dane,” he tells him, his fingertips catching on the shorn stubble behind Uhtred’s ear. There is no consternation in his voice. Instead, it sounds closer to wonder.

“Haven’t I always?”

“Yes,” Leofric concedes. He twists a strand of hair between finger and thumb. “More so now, though.”

“Good,” Uhtred grins. “I thought it might help to remind Alfred that whilst my sword is Saxon, my heart is not.” There is a beat of silence. Uhtred’s eyes rove Leofric’s face. “Not entirely,” he amends.

 

* * *

 

They build their new life together in Winchester. It is a different atmosphere to Coccham, and a return to the politics of their past.

Uhtred is quickly entrusted with the position of becoming one of Alfred’s closest advisors. Leofric is the only person who truly understands the responsibility it entails, and they spend many evenings together, discussing long into the night.

 

* * *

 

Before long, it is time to return to battle—a show of strength against Bloodhair’s forces.

“We’ll meet the King at Aescengum,” Uhtred says, as Leofric falls into step beside him outside the hall. “Ready the men and the horses – we’ll ride out before nightfall. I want to see Bloodhair for myself.”

“And Gisela?” Leofric asks.

“Thyra is here. Hild will be here for the birth,” Uhtred asserts. “She will understand.”

It is only when Leofric glances over at him that he can see Uhtred’s certainty waver. They have spent so long as a family that it is difficult to reconcile that life with their duty.

“We have to march,” he agrees.

 

* * *

 

They reunite with Finan on the outskirts of a recently raided village. Bloodhair has already moved on, but his sorceress Skade remains within the church.

She is not the simple hostage they had hoped she would be. She looks at Uhtred as though she is staring into his soul.

“Uhtred of Bebbanburg is cursed,” she says. “The witch holds his heart in her hands and she will squeeze it and break it.”

Leofric feels his blood run cold. Beside him, Uhtred is frozen in place, his chest heaving at the weight of her words. For all her value to Bloodhair, Leofric cannot help but think she is not worth a single coin.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred does not say a word during the ride to Aescengum, sitting stoic and silent beside Leofric.

Leofric knows better than to try and draw him into conversation. He knows the path of Uhtred’s thoughts, and it is not somewhere he can tread. There is nothing he can say that will break Uhtred’s belief in the curse.

 

* * *

 

Once Skade has been returned to the cell and everyone else has retired, Leofric finds Uhtred on the battlements. He is in a foul mood, a troubled frown creasing his brow.

Leofric can guess at the cause. They have ridden here for battle, leaving Winchester and Gisela behind, and now the King is stalling.

“I was going to suggest getting some rest,” Leofric says quietly, leaning back against the parapet, “but I can see I’d be wasting my breath.”

Uhtred does not reply, staring out at the dark smudge of trees on the horizon, but nor does he ask to be left alone.

Eventually, his eyes slide to where Skade had been standing earlier, shouting into the night.

“She knows something,” Uhtred murmurs, almost as though he has not intended to speak. He looks at Leofric with mournful eyes. “She talks of being my woman.”

“You believe they will attack Winchester,” Leofric says. He does not need to conclude that thought. It is clear what Uhtred fears.

Uhtred glances back over the walls, as though searching for the city beyond the hills—for his wife. “We fight tomorrow. There is no alternative.”

 

* * *

 

Leofric waits beyond the gate of the cell as Uhtred delivers Skade her breakfast.

“I don’t pretend to understand it,” he says as Uhtred emerges, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping, “but as far as I see it, bonds are forged, not just plucked out of thin air.”

For the first time since they began this journey, Uhtred smiles at him. “And let me guess, you don’t believe in fate either?”

“I didn’t say that,” Leofric says, deliberately keeping his tone neutral. “After all, when have we ever been in control?” He cannot entirely prevent the quick smile that twitches at his lips. “No, the way I see it, there is only one spinner, and his name is Alfred.”

Uhtred’s laugh is quiet, but no less heartfelt. Leofric can see some of the tension drain from him, in the relaxing of his expression and the slump of his shoulders.

“Besides,” he continues, clapping Uhtred gently on the arm, “that path you’re on? I’m there with you, all the way.” It has been true for longer than he can remember.

Uhtred’s expression says that he does not doubt it. “Until the end,” he agrees.

“And beyond,” Leofric vows. He may not be able to follow him to Valhalla, but a memory lasts forever.

 

* * *

 

The King finally agrees to face Bloodhair’s forces in battle. Uhtred has always been skilled in strategising, and this is no exception; drawing the Danes to Fearnham and using the terrain to their advantage.

Leofric glances at him with pride when Uhtred joins him in the shield wall. They have not fought in this manner for many years—not since Beamfleot.

The memory stirs something within him.

“Don’t die,” he says, echoing his words from that day.

Uhtred turns and flashes him a quick smile. “I won’t.” His eyes flick to the scar on Leofric’s neck.

Leofric nods in agreement of the unspoken plea. “Not a chance,” he grins.

 

* * *

 

They ride victorious into Winchester to be greeted by a cheering crowd of townspeople.

As they near the palace, Leofric spots Hild on the steps. Unlike the mass of faces in front of them, her expression is not one of joy. There is a woman behind her, with a baby in her arms. It is not Gisela.

Leofric’s heart drops into his stomach. Beside him, Uhtred pulls his horse to an abrupt halt.

There is nothing Leofric can say—he can only watch as Uhtred dismounts and races up the steps to be tightly enfolded in Hild’s arms, his worst fears confirmed.

 

* * *

 

The winter chill seeps into Leofric’s bones as he stands in the shadows at the edge of the graveyard, a silent sentinel to Uhtred’s grief. As much as he yearns to go over to him, this moment is for Uhtred alone.

It has been a long time since Leofric has been forced to watch him in mourning. It is not an experience he ever wished to repeat.

It is only when Uhtred falls to his knees that Leofric can bear it no longer and closes the distance between them. Uhtred does not turn as Leofric kneels next to him, as though he is not surprised that Leofric is here, by his side.

“She would have wanted a pagan funeral,” Uhtred says bitterly, echoing the thought in Leofric’s head.

Leofric presses the tips of his fingers into the dirt. He had always sworn to Gisela that he would protect Uhtred. He mourns that no one could do the same for her.

“Then that is what we shall give her,” he promises.

 


	2. Episode 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As if I thought I could keep to a regular posting schedule. Have an extra-long chapter to make up for it!

The flames of the pyre begin to swirl high into the air, sending their embers to the heavens.

Uhtred does not move, the torch still gripped in his hands. Then his shoulders begin to heave. Leofric is beside him in an instant, placing a grounding hand on his shoulder. Uhtred only sobs harder.

“Uhtred,” he says quietly, reaching for consoling words and finding none.

Uhtred turns under his grip, allowing himself to be enfolded in Leofric’s arms and drawn towards where Hild and Finan are standing.

Hild slips her hand into Uhtred’s, clutching tightly. Leofric takes his place at Uhtred’s other side, arm pressed down the length of his.

It is not the first time they have stood together like this, and for a moment the years seem to fall away. This time, however, Leofric cannot bear to look at Uhtred’s expression. The years of love can only have intensified the loss.

Instead, he brushes the back of his hand against Uhtred’s, their fingers tangling together.

 

* * *

 

They stand together, in silent solidarity, until the fire has died and only ashes are left.

“Get some rest. We leave for Coccham tomorrow,” Uhtred says, before stalking off into the darkness.

Leofric exchanges a look with Hild. He knows they are thinking the same thing. Uhtred has run from this sort of pain before.

“I’ll go after him.”

Hild nods in understanding, pressing his arm. “He needs you,” she says, “whether he realises it or not.”

“He’ll need us all,” Leofric says. Past experience has taught them that the next few days are going to be tough.

“He’s got us,” Finan agrees. He claps Leofric on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

 

* * *

 

The town is silent as Leofric approaches Uhtred’s house, the stillness of the night oppressive, as though it shares in their grief.

Uhtred is not in his lodgings. The servants have not seen him since he departed earlier in the evening. Leofric ignores their concerned expressions and turns on his heel. He has a feeling he knows where Uhtred is—at least, he hopes so.

When he opens his own door, he is relieved to find Uhtred sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace, staring into the empty grate. He is already undressed down to his shirtsleeves. He looks the most vulnerable Leofric has seen him in a long time.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Leofric says quietly, when it becomes clear that Uhtred isn’t going to say anything. “You weren’t at home.”

Uhtred’s eyes remain fixed on the hearth. “My wife isn’t there.”

The implication is clear—it is no longer home for him.

“Your children are,” Leofric tries.

Uhtred shrugs, impassive. “Two of them are.” He finally looks up as Leofric takes a seat opposite him. “But you’re here.”

“Yes,” Leofric says. No matter what happens, that will always be true.

Uhtred reaches out and grips Leofric’s hand gratefully, where it rests on his thigh. There is a warm familiarity in the touch. Leofric lifts their joined hands to press a rough kiss to the backs of Uhtred’s fingers. Uhtred watches him intently, his face pale and drawn in the moonlight.

“You need rest, Uhtred,” Leofric says.

“I’m not going—”

“I know,” Leofric interrupts gently, quelling Uhtred’s argument. “You can take my bed.”

Uhtred must be exhausted—he puts up no resistance as Leofric pulls him from the chair and leads him to the bed in the corner of the room.

He sinks down under the furs, boneless. “Are you going to join me?” he mumbles, eyes already drifting closed.

“Not here,” Leofric says kindly. “If we were at home, in Coccham, perhaps. But not here.” He presses Uhtred’s shoulder, hoping the touch conveys everything he yearns for, but cannot allow tonight.

 

* * *

 

The bags are packed and the horses saddled, and they are just about to depart when Beocca arrives.

Uhtred is needed by the King. Alone.

Leofric exchanges a concerned glance with Uhtred. There is something in Beocca’s voice that sets his nerves on edge. Uhtred has been summoned before the King numerous times and it has barely ever been for a good reason, nor had a positive outcome.

Stiorra clings to Uhtred, as reluctant to let him go as Leofric himself is.

“Here, I’ll take her,” Leofric says, encouraging the girl into his own arms. She folds her hands around the back of his neck, clutching him tightly.

Uhtred’s eyes flick between them. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

His gratitude goes deeper than just this moment, and Leofric knows it.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred storms past the gathered men and into his house, in an entrance that typifies the conclusion of a meeting with the King.

“We were seen, last night,” Uhtred says when the door has closed behind them, and Leofric’s stomach drops for a fraction of a second before he continues, “in the graveyard.”

It should not feel like as much of a reprieve as it does.

The relief does not last. It is difficult to hear Uhtred’s account of the events as they transpired before the Witan.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Uhtred says, the sharp edge of anger still warring with the despair in his voice.

There is nothing anyone can say to appease or console him. He may not mourn the monk, but there is no doubt that the weight of Alfred’s verdict will be far heavier to bear.

 

* * *

 

The hours drag by, daylight turning to night. It is hard not to feel as though they are being held hostage, even though they will not fight Steapa and his men.

The atmosphere in the house is tense, especially since Skade came indoors. Leofric takes up position by the door, unable to bear the way she is eyeing Uhtred across the table.

When she pushes too far and Uhtred threatens her, Leofric does not intercede.

Uhtred comes over to his side in the aftermath. A beam conceals Skade from view. It is as safe as it can be for Leofric to reach out and press his arm.

“Do you believe her?” Uhtred asks quietly.

Leofric cannot bring himself to admit that she was right last time, about Gisela. Instead he says, “I believe you didn’t want anything to change.”

 

* * *

 

There is barely any time to be relieved that there will be no trial and no punishment for Uhtred’s actions. The King’s demand is too much. The wergild is acceptable enough—these days Uhtred can afford it—but to swear an oath to the aetheling Edward is the pledge of a lifetime.

Leofric had once told Uhtred, over a decade ago, that Alfred would want more than a year’s service, but this is more than even he had bargained for. To take back all of England—it is clear that this is a task that will now continue beyond Alfred.

 

* * *

 

“There will be no killing,” Uhtred says, when Beocca and Aethelwold have departed.

“Uhtred,” Leofric says, throat tight. They both know the only other option is to face the King. They may have disobeyed Alfred more times over the years than Leofric cares to remember, but never over something as serious as this.

“I do not wish to break my oath,” Uhtred says, the conflict clear on his face, “but I will not swear one to Edward. Alfred needs to accept that.”

Skade’s words lurk in the back of Leofric’s head, as persistent as the weight of her gaze on Uhtred.

“And if he doesn’t?” he dares to ask.

“Then we should be ready to leave.”

 

* * *

 

They exit the house to face Alfred’s men.

“I’ll go with you to the King,” Uhtred tells Steapa. He turns back to face them, handing his swords over to Finan. “You know what to do,” he says, voice low.

“Lord,” Leofric manages. It is as close as he will get to pleading for Uhtred not to go through with the plan. He cannot bear the thought of him facing the Witan alone, unprotected.

Uhtred’s eyes are understanding, but uncompromising. “I will see you soon,” he says, as close to a promise as he can get.

Leofric watches his retreating form until he has completely vanished from view into the darkness. As hoped, Steapa and the guards follow after Uhtred, leaving the coast clear for the rest of them to depart without a fight.

There is little left to prepare, having readied for the journey to Coccham earlier. Leofric and Hild coax the children out of their beds and into a carriage, whilst Finan oversees readying the horses.

Once outside the walls, they part ways.

“God be with you,” Hild says, her hand a light touch on Leofric’s arm.

“With luck, we will be with you soon,” he returns. He cannot allow himself to think of the alternative.

 

* * *

 

It is impossible to determine how much time has passed as they wait for Uhtred outside the gates, the cold sinking into their bones.

Leofric is beginning to worry in earnest, the beginnings of a plan to rescue Uhtred from the cells stirring in his head, when he hears a commotion beyond the walls. Finan tenses next to him. Either Uhtred has been captured and their escape discovered, or Uhtred is making his own escape.

Then Steapa shouts Uhtred’s name, sounding close by. All they can do is wait and listen, unable to be certain whether Uhtred has given the guards the slip.

A few moments later, Uhtred drops in on them—rolling off the shelter’s thatched roof and onto the ground.

“You could have tried using the gate,” Leofric jokes, offering Uhtred a hand up. He accepts it with a wince, but seems largely unharmed from his fall.

Then Finan says, “Lord, you are cut.”

Leofric looks over, worried, and sees the blood on Uhtred’s sleeve. He reaches out before he can think better of it.

“Barely,” Uhtred dismisses, shrugging his arm out of reach. He sheathes his swords.

“We ride to where, Lord?” Sihtric asks.

Uhtred does not make eye contact with any of them. “To Ragnar and to the Danes.”

 

* * *

 

Uhtred is quiet as they ride. In the couple of hours since setting out that morning, they have exchanged only a few words, and most of those have been about the weather. He has not spoken of what happened with the King.

Sihtric approaches behind them. “Lord, she wishes to speak to you.”

They both turn and look at Skade. Her gaze is as unwavering as ever. It chills Leofric more than the snow drifting down from the sky. He wishes they hadn’t had to bring her with them.

Uhtred makes no motion to join her.

“You should go,” Leofric says. As reluctant as he is to allow it, it will be worse if Uhtred ignores her.

He is not close enough to overhear what is being said, and keeps his gaze fixed on the path ahead, but is nevertheless surprised when Uhtred returns to his side.

“She wished to ride alongside me,” Uhtred says quietly, after a while. From his tormented expression, Leofric can tell that there was more to the conversation than that.

“And?”

Uhtred does not expand on what passed between them. Instead, he looks over at Leofric and says, “It’s not her place. I don’t need her by my side.”

 

* * *

 

By the time they make camp that evening, Uhtred has begun to pale. Leofric watches him clutch at his arm, clearly in pain.

“Let me see to your wound,” he says, but Uhtred only shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, it’s just a scratch.” Leofric’s disbelief must show on his face, because Uhtred continues, “It’s her. She has taken hold of my path.” He glances over at Skade, huddled over by the other fire.

There is nothing Leofric can say to convince him otherwise.

 

* * *

 

He does not allow himself to worry until Uhtred, riding resolutely ahead of them, slips sideways off his horse. He hits the ground with a sickening thud.

Leofric leaps off his own horse without hesitation. Finan rushes over with him, and together they heave Uhtred from the floor. He looks sickly—his skin clammy and face as white as the snow covering the ground.

“Are you hurt, Lord? Is it your wound?” Finan asks.

“No, she has me,” Uhtred maintains, looking past them at Skade. “She is squeezing the life from me.”

Leofric does not wish to believe it, but cannot deny that Uhtred’s condition has worsened quicker than is entirely natural. The sooner they get to Dunholm, the better.

 

* * *

 

They head for shelter in the nearest patch of trees whilst Finan and Osferth ride on to the next village to secure a cart.

Leofric draws Sihtric into conference a few feet away from where Uhtred is slumped by the fire.

“Keep an eye on her,” he says, jerking his head towards Skade. “And keep her eyes off Uhtred.”

It won’t weaken the curse, but he is sick of her watching him. It feels as though their every movement is being tracked. He is grateful when Sihtric nods and moves to stand between them, blocking Skade from view.

Uhtred looks up wearily as Leofric settles next to him. He watches as Leofric cuts a strip of fabric off his tunic.

“What are you doing?”

“Bandaging your wound,” Leofric tells him. “Now take off your shirt.”

Uhtred quirks an eyebrow. “This is Skade’s work, not Steapa’s.” Leofric is glad to hear a touch of humour in his voice.

“Perhaps, but if you don’t let me, you’ll have more than the curse to worry about.” He reaches out to ease Uhtred’s shirt over his head when Uhtred makes no move to.

Uhtred’s gaze is warm as Leofric touches his fingertips to the edge of the wound.

“A dagger?” he asks, trying to keep the concern out of his voice.

“Spear,” Uhtred says. “Steapa is an impressive shot.”

“Luckily he wasn’t a better shot,” Leofric says, dabbing at the blood, “or else he would have hit somewhere worse than your arm.”

He carefully ties the fabric around Uhtred’s arm, a hand lingering on his shoulder. His gaze settles on the line of an old scar on Uhtred’s chest, thrown into definition by the flickering firelight.

There are a multitude of scars littering Uhtred’s body now, and Leofric can read their shared history in almost all of them. He knows the cause of the jagged line cut into his arm and the fine lacework across his back.

“Thank you,” Uhtred murmurs. His eyes have not left Leofric’s face.

Leofric helps him with his shirt. “Well,” he says lightly, “I think you’ll live.”

 

* * *

 

Their progress is much slower with the cart, and the short winter days allow little time for travelling as it is.

Leofric looks down at Uhtred, lying pale and prone before him, his eyes closed. His strength is failing fast, and they are still a few days out from Dunholm. Leofric can only hope they do not reach it too late.

He feels a sudden need to reassure himself that Uhtred is still fighting, and reaches out to check his pulse. The backs of his fingers brush Uhtred’s cheek lightly, close to a caress, then trail under his jaw. He presses his fingertips against the hollow of his throat. Uhtred’s pulse is weak, beating slowly beneath the touch, but at least he is alive.

Uhtred’s eyelids flutter but do not open. He mumbles Leofric’s name.

Leofric’s heart seizes with fondness. “I’m here,” he murmurs.

 

* * *

 

“How is he?” Leofric asks, when Finan returns to the fireside.

With luck, they will reach Dunholm tomorrow; Uhtred needs only to hold on for a day longer. That’s if it is the curse that is ailing him. At this point Leofric has to believe it is. Otherwise it is unlikely Uhtred will recover.

“I have not seen him so pale since the slave ship,” Finan says, his face drawn with worry.

Leofric nods in agreement. “He will survive this too,” he assures, wishing that he could allow himself to believe it.

Finan passes him the beaker of ale in silent entreaty.

Uhtred’s eyes are closed when Leofric approaches the shelter, but crack open when he crouches next to him.

“You must drink,” Leofric tells him. “You need your strength.”

He lifts Uhtred’s head with a gentle hand, bringing the beaker to his lips. Uhtred struggles with even a small sip, but Leofric is pleased that he tries.

“Finan fears you are dying,” he says quietly. His hand comes to rest on Uhtred’s chest, over his heart. “I told him you would not dare.” He cannot entirely keep the concern out of his voice, even though he tries for levity.

This at least gets a small, if feeble, smile out of Uhtred. His hand comes up to cover Leofric’s.

“No,” Uhtred agrees weakly.

It is conviction enough for Leofric to allow himself a moment of hope.

 

* * *

 

His relief lasts as long as it takes for darkness to fall, when Uhtred’s fever worsens. He begins tossing and turning, muttering wildly to himself.

Over by the fire, the only word Leofric can make out is _Gisela_ , leaving Uhtred’s lips on a distressed sigh.

“He sees someone,” Skade says. “It is the gods, tormenting him.”

It seems that she is correct—Uhtred is staring up at the sky as though seeing something before him, a lot closer than the firmament. It is surely not a good sign that his illness has progressed to hallucinations, and especially not of his late wife.

Uhtred becomes agitated then, and Leofric can bear it no longer. He pushes into the shelter and drops to his knees next to him, uncaring that the others are watching as he pulls Uhtred into his arms, cradling his face in one hand. Uhtred’s eyes fix on him, distant and terrified.

Eventually he quietens. “Brida,” he murmurs, his head dropping against Leofric’s chest.

“Leofric,” Finan says, drawing his attention.

He turns to see Brida standing at the entrance to the tent. He has never been so glad to see her.

“Can you help him?” he asks, not bothering to conceal the distress in his voice.

Brida studies him for a long moment, then looks at Uhtred. “Yes,” she says simply.

 

* * *

 

They make it to Dunholm by noon, and not a moment too late.

Uhtred does not stir as they pass through the gates, not even at Ragnar’s voice as he strides out of the hall to welcome them.

With his help, they haul Uhtred into nearby lodgings. Leofric keeps a vigil by his bedside, leaving the others to see to the horses, and Brida to see to Skade.

Uhtred trembles under the furs, in the grips of an invisible torment that Leofric cannot soothe.

Finally, he quietens, colour flooding back into his cheeks. When his eyes open, they are bright and clear—no sign of fever or the living nightmares that have plagued him.

“Thank the gods,” Leofric says, all the relief he feels packed into the syllables.

Uhtred’s gaze settles on him, and there is a flash of something in his eyes, like the ghost of a memory.

“You, you—” he stammers.

“It’s okay,” Leofric reassures him. “We’re at Dunholm. Brida has blocked the curse. You’re okay.” He settles a hand against Uhtred’s shoulder. Uhtred tenses beneath the touch. “Rest,” Leofric tells him. “You need to get your strength back.”

“Feels like all I’ve done for the last few weeks is rest,” Uhtred mutters with a half-hearted glare, but he relaxes back against the bed anyway.

Leofric stays at his side, watching him drift into his first peaceful sleep in days.

 

* * *

 

That evening, Uhtred eats heartily, and Leofric feels the last of the worry drain out of him.

“We thought you’d gone, Lord,” Finan says. He looks as exhausted as Leofric feels.

“The same,” Uhtred agrees. “I feared I’d die an old man’s death, under furs.”

Leofric hopes when that day finally comes, it is swift and merciful. Of course, he hopes he isn’t around to see it, but he could not endure another few weeks like these.

“Thank you,” he says to Brida. It is a woeful understatement, but he has no words to express the extent of his gratitude.

Her answering smile softens when she looks over at Uhtred. There is a sadness to her features that has perhaps always been there, but is more pronounced now. It seems to ease when she looks at Uhtred, like returning to the warm familiarity of home. Leofric only recognises it because he feels the same.

 

* * *

 

Ragnar is overjoyed at extracting Uhtred’s promise.

“I am a Dane for life,” Uhtred repeats, awkward at first, but becoming more certain. It sounds like an oath.

Leofric sees his expression in the aftermath, as Ragnar joyously clutches Uhtred to him. He does not look as jubilant as his brother.

 

* * *

 

“Finan’s right,” Leofric says later when they get a moment alone, huddled together in the darkness. “We cannot wage a war against Alfred. I came here for you, but there’s a difference between seeking shelter”—he jerks his head towards the hall—“and whatever that was in there.”

“You mean you didn’t come here to find a woman as well?”

“Arse,” Leofric says fondly.

Uhtred is silent for a long moment. “We can’t return to Wessex, not now.” He does not meet Leofric’s eyes as he says it. “I have made us all traitors.”

At long last, he admits the events that transpired the night he went to the King.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he finishes quietly. “I know you would not have chosen this.”

“Wise it was not,” Leofric says carefully. He is still too relieved to have Uhtred standing in front of him, alive, to let his frustration show. Uhtred has always been impulsive and reckless, and Leofric has never expected that to change. “But I have chosen to follow you.”

“Not willingly,” Uhtred argues, “not with all the facts. I lied to you and lured you here falsely.” He looks wary, as though he still expects Leofric to grow angry; as though he is trying to provoke that anger, but is also afraid of receiving it.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have chosen this,” Leofric allows. “And I cannot attack Wessex, any more than I believe you can. But you’re wrong about one thing…” He settles his hand against Uhtred’s chest, over his heart. Uhtred’s expression softens at the gesture. “I made my choice a long time ago, and my loyalty is to you.”

“You mean—” A frown creases Uhtred’s brow. “You were angry, before. You called me _arseling_.”

“When?” Leofric asks, a strange suspicion forming in his mind. He has not used that name for many years.

Uhtred’s gaze drops to the hand on his chest, a memory stirring. “I remember... in the woods,” he says at length.

The realisation settles like a lead weight in Leofric’s stomach. “Skade said you saw someone. That it was the gods, tormenting you. But it wasn’t me, Uhtred, not really.”

He watches Uhtred struggle with the truth of it for a moment, but then the last of the tension drains out of him; the last of the wariness leaving his eyes.

Leofric chances a joke. “You saw two of me? You really are cursed, aren’t you?”

Uhtred’s answering smile is bright and unguarded. It is something to be treasured, particularly as there was a time Leofric thought he might never see it again.

 


	3. Episode 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the slight increase in rating for this chapter - there was finally an opportunity for these boys to get some alone time!
> 
> Happy holidays to you all!

When Uhtred returns from the hall that night, he seems unsurprised to find Leofric in his house and in his bed. He bolts the door behind him without hesitation, and makes his way across the room.

“Ragnar offered me a place in the hall,” Uhtred says, when he sees that Leofric is awake, watching him. His cloak drops to the floor. “I said here would suit fine. I see you agree.”

Leofric pulls back the furs in lieu of an answer, allowing Uhtred to slide in next to him. It warms him to know that Uhtred could have stayed with his family but chose to return here, where he expected Leofric to be.

“You smell like a tavern,” he says instead.

“So do you,” Uhtred returns, but presses closer anyway.

 

* * *

 

They wake early, a thin finger of pale light just beginning to push through the gap between window covering and frame. It slants across the curve of Uhtred’s shoulder like a caress. Leofric traces it with a gentle fingertip.

Outside, all is quiet.

Uhtred’s eyes are dark in the dim light, but there is no mistaking the intent in them. He moves against Leofric, slowly at first, after long years unused to each other’s bodies, but quickly growing bolder.

 

* * *

 

Leofric finds Uhtred in the hall later, practising movements with his sword. He does not pause as Leofric settles on one of the benches, watching him drill through the motions. A slight tremor in his arm is the only sign that he is not back to full strength.

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” Leofric asks quietly, after a while.

Uhtred turns to him immediately, his arms dropping to his sides. Leofric can tell that he knows what he is referring to—there is a sorrow in his eyes that Leofric can read every shade of. The memory sits heavily with him too.

“How much longer are you going to deny yourself?” he asks. “You cannot escape who you are. Blood and bone, you are Bebbanburg.” It is a vain attempt to remind Uhtred of his birthright, in the face of all Uhtred’s assertions that he is Dane, and he knows it.

Before Uhtred can respond, the shadows at the doorway shift, and Osferth steps into the hall, wringing his hands nervously. Leofric gives him what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

Osferth looks over at Uhtred. “Lord?”

“What is it, Osferth?” There is an irritation in Uhtred’s voice that Leofric knows was intended for him.

“Forgive me, Lord,” Osferth stammers, “I have not said. I loved her, Lady Gisela.” Leofric can see Uhtred flinch. No one has yet dared to mention her in front of him, Leofric included. Osferth presses on regardless. “She was always kind to me, Lord. I’ll pray for her soul, if that’s acceptable.”

There is the barest of pauses before Uhtred says, “It is, Osferth. Thank you.”

Leofric watches the boy depart, until the darkness swallows him once more. When he looks back, he is surprised to find Uhtred’s eyes already on him. Leofric hopes he can read the apology in his expression.

“You know I regret it,” Uhtred says, moving over to sit next to Leofric, their arms brushing as he settles, “not taking Bebbanburg last time I had the chance. But you also know why I couldn’t.”

Leofric can only nod. Perhaps he is a coward for not being able to talk of Gisela, even now. But Uhtred does not seem to mind.

“Now is not the time either,” he says decisively. “I cannot abandon my brother again.”

 

* * *

 

Ragnar, too, is delighted to have his brother with him once more. He plays host eagerly, and the next few days pass with games and ale in equal measure. Uhtred's smiles become easier, more frequent. Even the men seem at ease. It is enough for Leofric to feel grateful, despite all that has passed.

He and Uhtred find plenty of time for themselves too, spending long nights curled together in the house that has quickly come to feel like theirs.

It is almost easy to forget that there is a world beyond the walls.

 

* * *

 

Reality comes crashing around them soon enough.

One of Ragnar’s watchmen arrives with news that warriors are approaching the fortress. They stand on the battlements watching the group approach, their torches glowing brightly in the darkness.

“They are Danes,” Ragnar says.

“Definitely,” Uhtred agrees.

The men draw close enough to see their faces. It is Haesten and Bloodhair. There is no doubt as to why they are here.

“You are a long way from Beamfleot, Haesten,” Uhtred calls down.

“So, it is true,” Haesten says. “You are no longer Alfred’s oathman.”

Uhtred is quiet for a moment. Leofric looks across at him and sees the conflict on his face before he can cover it. “It is true,” he confirms.

It is clear that Haesten is reneging on his oath too. The peace Alfred tentatively managed to build is truly at an end.

“Do you have anything to say to me, Bloodhair?” Uhtred asks, turning his attention to the other Dane.

“Yes,” Bloodhair scowls. “You took what belongs to me. We have that matter to settle.”

Leofric fears that no matter what Skade has done to Uhtred, he will not be willing to relinquish her.

They cannot refuse the Danes entry. The situation is now even more dangerous.

Uhtred knows it. “They are here for one thing only, to speak of war and of Alfred.”

The men begin to ride towards the open gates. There is a face among them that is even more recognisable than Haesten and Bloodhair.

Aethelwold’s scheming truly knows no bounds.

 

* * *

 

“He is even more of an idiot than I thought,” Uhtred says, storming into the house.

Leofric looks up from where he is adding kindling to the fire. “Hmm?”

“Aethelwold.” Uhtred shakes off his cloak, droplets of water splashing against the stone. “He is involved in things way beyond his understanding, and he seems to think it _fun_.” He spits the last word. “He says he and I are the same. That all that will come to pass is because of me.”

Leofric knows that tone of voice. “You think he’s right,” he says.

“Do not presume—” Uhtred starts, his earlier anger clearly still simmering below the surface. It fizzles out quickly, leaving his expression suddenly empty.

Leofric wishes he had words to reassure him that Aethelwold is wrong, but doesn’t.

Uhtred seems to know it. He pulls his cloak back on and leaves without a backwards glance.

 

* * *

 

It is late, the fire long since burned to ash, and still Uhtred has not returned. Leofric takes up his own cloak and heads out into the darkness.

There is an unnerving tension in the air—the town itself is quiet, the only noise coming from the hall. For the first time since their arrival, the split between Saxon and Dane is painfully obvious.

Uhtred is nowhere to be seen.

Leofric is beginning to wonder if he is in the hall with the Danes, when he spots Uhtred up on the walkway, looking out over the town, deep in thought. He heads up the nearest steps to join him. He may not be able to offer much in the way of reassurance, but he knows from experience that it is best not to leave Uhtred alone with his thoughts.

When he rounds the corner, however, he finds that Ragnar has joined Uhtred instead.

He knows he should turn around and leave them to their conversation in private, but something stops him. Since the day he tried to broach the subject of Bebbanburg, they have not spoken of Uhtred’s intentions. There are some things he may yet admit to his brother that he will not share with Leofric.

The temptation to understand what Uhtred is thinking is too great. He steps back into the shadows.

“Our grandfather would often speak of Wessex,” Ragnar is saying.

“Valhalla in this life.” Uhtred sounds reminiscent. He has rarely spoken of his family outside of his siblings—of his life before Leofric knew him.

Leofric can see Ragnar’s pleased smile. “How proud would he be if together we marched a great army, and we took that land?”

“He would be proud, no doubt,” Uhtred agrees, but Leofric can hear the reluctance in his voice.

“You have made this possible,” Ragnar tells him. “By abandoning Alfred, by leaving Wessex, you have made this possible. It is fate, no doubt.”

Uhtred makes no move to agree. It gives Leofric some small hope that all is not lost.

Ragnar departs soon after, Uhtred’s eyes fixed on his retreating back.

“He will make you swear your sword,” Leofric says, stepping out of the shadows, “and you know it.”

Uhtred stills but does not turn. It is difficult to tell whether or not he is angry. “You were listening.” It is not a question.

“You would kill me, or men like me,” Leofric cautions.

Uhtred turns on him, his eyes filled with hurt and defiance. “I would not—” he chokes. “I could not...”

All the words Leofric has been holding back these past days threaten to spill out of him. “If you do this, you surely would.”

Uhtred is in front of Leofric in a few swift steps, his hand already half-raised. He meets Leofric’s gaze warily, but whatever he sees there must be enough to reassure him, because he reaches up between them, closing the distance and pressing his fingertips to the scar on Leofric’s neck.

“Never,” he swears.

 

* * *

 

That night, Uhtred is not gentle. He is on him the moment the door is bolted, determined and hungry, his fingers gripping Leofric’s hips hard enough to bruise. It is like being trapped in a cage with a wolf.

Leofric would accept it willingly—they are neither of them gentle by nature and it makes sense that this would not always be so—were it not for the fact that Uhtred does not appear to find any enjoyment in it. There is a detached efficiency to all his movements.

“I know I’m Saxon,” Leofric says, stilling beneath him, “but I am not in opposition to you.”

“Hmm?” Uhtred grunts, distracted, then freezes. He pulls away swiftly, a litany of apologies on his tongue, but Leofric manages to reach for him before he can leave the bed. He places a steadying hand on Uhtred’s hip, holding him in place.

After a moment, Uhtred sinks back against the furs, settling on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Leofric waits for him to speak.

“I went to see Skade,” Uhtred admits eventually. Leofric’s fingers tighten against him instinctively and Uhtred quickly continues, “It’s okay, the Nithstong works. She has no power over me.”

Some of the tension drains from him as he recounts what he chooses of their meeting. Leofric can tell it is not all, but it is enough that Uhtred has chosen to confide at least something.

He does not meet Leofric’s eyes when he confesses, hollowly, “I kissed her.” It is as though the words have been dragged from him without his permission.

“It’s okay,” Leofric says. He can only assume Uhtred’s guilt is over Gisela. He strokes a thumb against Uhtred’s hipbone in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. “There will be others. There always is.”

“Perhaps,” Uhtred allows. “The ladies do love me.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Leofric mutters, but he means for Uhtred to hear it, and is glad to see him smile.

The last of the tension breaks. This time, when Uhtred touches him, there is nothing distant about it.

His lips scuff Leofric’s jaw. “I am tired of all these claims that she owns me.”

Leofric wonders if Uhtred knows what his eyes seem to be saying—the invitation in them. He determines to find out.

Uhtred allows himself to be pinned under Leofric’s body, and when Leofric experimentally bites a kiss into the soft skin above his collarbone, Uhtred arches beneath him. He makes a sound, low in his throat, the closest to a moan Leofric has ever heard. It has always been necessary for them to be quiet in this, but now Uhtred seems unable to restrain himself.

“Perhaps you do wish to be claimed,” Leofric says, and it does not sound like a question even to himself. He is becoming more certain with every passing moment.

He sucks a bruise into life over the mark, and this time, the noise Uhtred makes is definitely a moan, loud and open-mouthed, his breath hot against Leofric’s hand when he clamps it over his lips to muffle the sound.

“You want to be owned,” he growls, “but not by her.”

Leofric is not, by nature, possessive. He knows Uhtred as well as he knows himself in this. For Uhtred, there will always be others. But in this moment, with Uhtred so pliant beneath him—and that should not be the word, he thinks; shouldn’t, but is—he cannot help it. _Mine_ , he thinks, fiercely.

Uhtred clutches him close as though he agrees.

 

* * *

 

A new day dawns, and brings with it the moment they all knew to expect, but feared anyway. An alliance is formed between the Danes, with Ragnar as their leader.

Everyone looks to Uhtred for his pledge.

Leofric does not dare to turn and see Uhtred’s expression for himself. There is a moment’s pause, and then the last of his hope that Uhtred may choose to heed his warnings is extinguished.

“My sword is my brother’s, no doubt.”

“Then it is settled,” Ragnar says. “The kingdom of Wessex will surrender… Or burn.”

The hall erupts into cheers, the Danes banging their fists loudly against the tables and raising their tankards.

Uhtred remains still and silent next to him. When Leofric turns, there is no joy in his expression, the firelight casting haunting shadows across his face.

 

* * *

 

“I told you this would happen,” Leofric says quietly, as the door closes behind them.

“Don’t,” Uhtred warns.

“You can’t expect me to hold my tongue any longer.” Leofric does not wish to cause friction between them, but Uhtred needs to hear it. “You have committed to destroy the Wessex we helped build. And you are forcing your men to do the same.”

“I have made them traitors, you mean,” Uhtred says, voice as hard as steel.

“No,” Leofric says, any anger he might have reached for dissipating before it flares. Uhtred has told him what he remembers of his hallucinations and Leofric has no desire to contribute to his torment. It is difficult enough that Uhtred still recalls it. “They are loyal to you, Lord, and made their choice as I did. But that doesn’t mean they wish to see Wessex burn.”

“And you believe I do?”

“Forgive me, Lord, but that is exactly the course of action you have agreed to.”

Uhtred turns on his heel to leave and Leofric does not try to stop him. He doesn’t return to the house that night.

 

* * *

 

When Leofric wakes, Uhtred is sat over on the bench, watching him. His expression does not betray his thoughts. Then he sees that Leofric is awake and his features soften.

“Forgive me?” he asks.

“Always. Sometimes against my better judgment,” Leofric jokes. He is pleased to see an answering smile twitch at Uhtred’s lips. “Look, we both know I’d be lying if I said that all I care for is in Wessex, but I do not wish to lose those we left there.”

“I know it,” Uhtred says. “Nor do I.”

Leofric thinks of the children; of Hild. “I know it,” he echoes.

 

* * *

 

The preparations for war are well underway. Haesten leaves for the south to amass Bloodhair’s army, whilst Dunholm becomes a hive of activity.

Once more, their past catches up with them—this time in the form of Beocca.

Leofric looks warily at Uhtred as he descends from the battlements to greet their unexpected guests, giving him what he hopes is a reassuring smile as Uhtred passes.

Perhaps wisely, Uhtred focuses his attention on Thyra. He turns to leave without talking to Beocca.

“The children are well,” Uhtred says, as Leofric falls into step beside him.

Leofric presses his arm in relief. “Why are they here?”

“Thyra did not say. No doubt Beocca will.”

 

* * *

 

Uhtred is right—Beocca finds them within the hour.

Finan helpfully clears everyone else away to give Uhtred and the priest some privacy. Leofric only moves to stand over by one of the beams, facing away from them but still within earshot.

Beocca does not say anything, but must look at him in query, because hears Uhtred say, “Leofric stays. Whatever you have to say to me you can say in front of him.”

It must be enough to reassure Beocca as he talks openly to Uhtred, imparting the reason for his visit. He is not here for Alfred. He is here for Aethelflaed—the princess is in hiding from her husband, and has asked for Uhtred’s help.

Leofric can hear Uhtred’s despairing sigh. He has sworn his sword on so many occasions it is difficult to keep a count of his oaths. Every promise he makes has a tendency to come back and haunt him.

When Beocca leaves, Leofric turns back to him. Uhtred’s brow is creased in thought. They only have time to exchange a quick glance before the men return to the table.

The arrival of the familiar faces from their life in Wessex has clearly had an effect on the men, who finally speak their true thoughts of the situation they have found themselves in.

“If the north is your home, your birthright, then why are we not looking towards Bebbanburg?” Finan asks. “Now that is a fight we can believe in.” Then he dares to say what Leofric has not been able to bring himself to say so explicitly. “We should leave this place.”

“And abandon my brother?” Uhtred says, agonised. “How can I do that?”

“You must.”

“There is another cause we could get behind,” Leofric suggests, beseeching. He can sense that Uhtred is the closest to listening to them as he ever has been. It is the best chance they are going to get to persuade him.

 

* * *

 

They remain outside whilst Uhtred enters the hall, until it becomes clear that the situation is becoming hostile.

“Do you stand with us, with each of us, or not?” Ragnar asks.

Uhtred looks over to them for support. Then he turns back to Ragnar, breathing deeply, steeling himself.

“I will be leaving,” Uhtred asserts. “I will be leaving, though I will not be returning to Wessex. I am needed.”

“You would do this to me? Again?” Ragnar says, halfway between angry and crestfallen.

“I must.”

“Yes, of course you must,” Ragnar says derisively. “You swore an oath. You gave your word. And that is about reputation and honour. What my father gave to you, I now take back. You are no longer Uhtred Ragnarson.”

Leofric is almost glad he cannot see Uhtred’s expression. He might have always been torn between Saxon and Dane, but he has always been Uhtred Ragnarson.

“Go, before I kill you,” Ragnar says.

Before Uhtred can step away—before there is chance to be relieved—Bloodhair stands up. “He does not leave with Skade, Ragnar. She belongs to me.”

“Yes, Bloodhair,” Ragnar agrees. “We shall make the square, and you can fight for the witch… to the death.”

The dread settles like a lead weight in Leofric’s stomach, the words sending a chill through him. He takes a step forward unthinkingly, towards Uhtred.

“Agreed,” Bloodhair says.

“Lord, say nothing,” Finan warns, at the same time as Leofric says, “Uhtred, no.” He cannot prevent the quiver in his voice.

This is what he’d feared the last time, standing in front of the Witan—Uhtred’s life held in hands other than his own. Uhtred’s death trusted to another.

If Uhtred is recalling the same, he does not look at Leofric. His gaze does not leave Bloodhair.

“Agreed. We fight.”

 

* * *

 

“You don’t need to do this,” Leofric says, holding Uhtred close in bed that night. “She’s not worth it. Nor is Valhalla.” He knows there is no way of talking Uhtred out of this, but he has to say something.

Uhtred settles his hand over Leofric’s chest, fingertips brushing lightly against his skin. His heart pounds at the touch, as though it is trying to leap into the space beneath Uhtred’s palm.

“Believe me, I do not wish to leave you,” Uhtred says, his eyes soft. Leofric does not doubt it. “But it’s a matter of honour.”

“I know it,” Leofric says. He had used a similar reasoning last time.

This time, at least, he is able to hold him until morning.

 


	4. Episode 4

Dawn arrives sooner than either of them would wish.

“The gods will return me to your arms,” Uhtred promises, yet his grip on Leofric’s hand after he has fastened the clasps on his armour is as unyielding as Leofric’s own.

 

* * *

 

The shouts and jeers of the crowd as they gather in the courtyard reminds Leofric of the last fight they witnessed inside these walls—when Ragnar had faced Kjartan and finally taken his revenge. He may not be the one wielding the sword this time, but what transpires here today is still his responsibility.

Then Uhtred pushes through the crowd opposite him and strides into the centre of the circle. His expression is set, grim and determined, as it had been that awful day in Winchester when he had faced Leofric across the square as his opponent.

There is no preventing it—even though they have made their peace with that day, every clash of steel and every thud of metal against wood serves as a reminder of how close he came to being parted from Uhtred, one way or another. He stands, rooted to the spot, heart clenched in fear and unable to act.

At last, Uhtred gets the upper hand and manages to overpower Bloodhair, knocking him to the ground. He stands over the Dane, sword raised to deliver the killing blow. A hush falls over the crowd.

Suddenly, Ragnar surges out of the crowd and pushes Uhtred roughly to the ground. Uhtred stares up at him, dazed and angry.

“It’s over,” Ragnar says.

Neither Uhtred or Bloodhair are prepared to accept it.

“It was to the death,” Uhtred asserts.

Ragnar’s expression is unforgiving. “If you disagree with me, Saxon, then fight me.” Uhtred makes no move towards him. “It is over, it is done. Take what belongs to you.”

Leofric wishes he could go over to Uhtred, to press his arm in relief that the fight is over and he is alive, but he cannot. He heads over to the horses alone, leaving Uhtred to claim his prize.

“You ride with me now,” Uhtred says to Skade, loud enough to carry. It is intended to wound Bloodhair, but it serves to wound Leofric too.

He turns away as Uhtred helps Skade onto her horse. Her triumphant expression is more than he can bear.

 

* * *

 

They part ways with Beocca and Thyra close to Eoferwic.

Beocca draws his horse level with Uhtred’s to bid goodbye. It seems Uhtred’s decision to rescue the princess has restored the good faith between him and the priest; their parting is fonder than it may otherwise have been.

“Do not get yourself killed until Aethelflaed is safe,” Beocca says, affection and humour colouring his voice.

“That would be unfortunate,” Uhtred agrees, returning Beocca’s smile.

Leofric turns to Thyra, who lingers next to him, giving her husband and brother some privacy. “Take care,” he says.

She offers him a watery smile. “Thank you.” Her eyes flick to Uhtred. “Look out for him.”

“I will,” he promises, ignoring the weight of Skade’s gaze on him.

 

* * *

 

The journey to Winchcombe is long. Skade rides next to Uhtred and Leofric bears it as best he can, warmed by the knowledge that Uhtred still wears the marks Leofric left on his skin, concealed from Skade’s view.

Instead he rides behind them, next to Osferth. The boy—although he can hardly be called that anymore, he still feels so to Leofric—seems pleased for the company.

“Do you fear for him?” he asks Leofric quietly. They are not within earshot of Uhtred, as Finan and Sihtric ride in front of them, but it is wise to keep their voices down nonetheless.

“I fear for us all,” Leofric says. He glances ahead and sees Skade reach out towards Uhtred, where Leofric knows the cut on his head sustained in the fight still bleeds. He fights down the possessive urge that rises within him. “But yes,” he confesses, “I fear for him most of all.”

Osferth sees where he is looking. “And you do not like her.”

It is not really a question, but Leofric purses his lips in silent agreement. “Do any of us?”

“I don’t think so,” Osferth admits, although his expression is awkward, as though he dislikes talking negatively of anyone. “She has taken a shine to Uhtred though.”

“That’s why I fear for him.”

“I don’t think he feels the same,” Osferth says, and something in his voice makes Leofric realise his nephew is trying to reassure him.

He offers him an encouraging smile. It is not something Osferth needs to burden himself with too.

 

* * *

 

There are men at the entrance to the abbey—Aethelflaed’s guards, they assume, although it cannot be said that they are doing their job well. Aethelred’s men would have no difficulty in overpowering them if they discovered the whereabouts of the princess.

“What’s the plan?” Finan asks, as they crouch low and unobserved in the undergrowth. “Use the baby monk to our advantage?”

Uhtred, however, has a different plan in mind.

 

* * *

 

Their entrance does not seem to endear them to their hosts, but Aethelflaed at least is pleased to see them—and particularly pleased to see Uhtred. She smiles across the table at him fondly, even as the Abbess glowers next to her.

“I do not like you, young man,” the woman says. “You have a very high opinion of yourself.”

Leofric cannot prevent exchanging a smirk with Finan.

Uhtred seems unperturbed. “I am heathen, I am godless and an enemy of Alfred”—it is nothing he hasn’t heard thrown at him a thousand times—“but I will keep you alive.”

“I do not like him,” the Abbess asserts again, despite Aethelflaed’s diplomatic speech. She looks over at Skade, who is staring at her in that unsettling, intense way of hers. “I like her even less.”

It is a sentiment they can all agree with.

 

* * *

 

When Aethelflaed leaves the hall, Uhtred follows. It makes sense, to ensure she is guarded, but Leofric suspects it is not entirely the reason.

It is not until Skade departs after them that Leofric rises from his seat. He catches Osferth’s eyes over Finan’s head as he steps over the bench. The boy offers him an understanding smile.

He finds Skade lurking outside by the stables, observing through a gap in the wooden slats. He remains in the shadows, watching as Aethelflaed leaves, and Skade slips in behind her. Then it is his turn to approach, as quietly as he can, taking up the position Skade has just abandoned.

He does not mean to spy, but then again it is nothing they haven’t heard before, her words as wearing and tedious as they were the first time. It seems Uhtred is not entranced either, and even when she leans in to kiss him—although he allows it—he does not appear to return it. His expression remains as troubled as ever.

Skade sweeps out, brushing past Leofric with a victorious smile, as though she believes she has successfully laid claim to Uhtred.

“It must be my turn now,” Leofric jokes, entering the stable to find Uhtred drawing the backs of his fingers across his mouth, as though he is trying to wipe away the sensation of her lips against his.

To his astonishment, Uhtred steps closer, tugging Leofric forwards by his sleeve.

“What are you—?” he manages, unable to cover his surprise. “Here? We’re in an abbey.”

“Outside an abbey,” Uhtred corrects. “Besides, they already think I am heathen and godless.”

“And if anyone else should see?”

It is a feeble argument and Leofric knows it. He has a suspicion that the men are not ignorant of the situation between Uhtred and himself, and Aethelflaed and Skade have already returned to the hall.

Uhtred must see the gap in his defence too, or at least sense Leofric’s resolve weakening, as he leans in without hesitation. Leofric does not have the heart to spurn him. Their lips brush for a fleeting moment, but it is enough to satisfy Uhtred, who steps away with a small smile.

“I must admit I’m surprised,” Leofric confesses quietly. “She would have turned your head once.” He thinks of Iseult, and the gifts of hers that had so entranced Uhtred in the early days.

Uhtred shrugs, almost dismissively at first, but in Leofric’s company it is safe for him to confess anything, and he knows it.

“She only wants me for the power I could bring her. I have no desire to share in that.” He is quiet for a long moment, but Leofric waits for him to continue, sensing that there is more he wishes to say. He is right. “She says I must return to the Danes, but it is too late to go back to Ragnar now. As you once said, blood feuds last a lifetime.”

“Oh, so you did listen to some of the things I said, then. I could never be sure.”

Uhtred huffs out a breath, close to a laugh. “Am I becoming wise and sensible, do you think?”

“I fear that’s an impossibility,” Leofric replies, a hint of a smile on his lips. “But I am glad you’re trying.”

 

* * *

 

In the end it is not Aethelred’s men they have to fight—it is Haesten.

To Leofric’s surprise, Uhtred tries to approach the situation diplomatically at first, but then the Abbess is killed.

Osferth clutches at the cross around his neck. Leofric reaches out to press his shoulder. He looks over at Uhtred, in silhouette by the window. Now they have no option but to take arms.

In the midst of the clamour, it is impossible to tell where Uhtred is, or if any of the cries of pain are his.

It is a relief to claim the victory without losing any of their men. It is even more of a relief—as it always is—to find Uhtred still standing, uninjured except for a small cut above his eye. Uhtred seems as satisfied in his quick once-over of Leofric.

 

* * *

 

Darkness falls, and they remain trapped in the abbey. The Danes have blocked all means of escape, save for the main doors. Aethelflaed does not repeat her suggestion that she should give herself over to Haesten, even as the hours drag on, but it becomes clear that if they do not wish to fight further, there will need to be a discussion.

“Osferth, you’ll open the door on my word and retreat,” Uhtred commands. “We form a shield wall and then we negotiate.”

The men head over to the doors, and Leofric with them, but Uhtred does not immediately follow. Instead, he approaches Skade.

Leofric is too far away from them to hear what is being said, but he sees Uhtred cup her face in his hand and lean in close, whispering something in her ear. Aethelflaed, lingering in the doorway of the hall, sees it too.

By the time Leofric looks back at him, Uhtred has moved away.

“Shield wall ready,” he cries, striding over to the doors and taking his place behind Finan and Sihtric.

At his command, Osferth lifts the bar and pulls one of the large wooden doors open, remaining behind it for safety.

The shield wall shifts forwards.

Haesten does not seem willing to negotiate. They are heading towards another fight, until Uhtred says, “Or we can strike a bargain. One woman in place of another.”

Leofric glances to Uhtred in surprise. Skade, however, does not. This must have been what they were talking about earlier.

Having secured Haesten’s agreement, Skade turns to fix Uhtred with a cold stare. “And you are cursed once more, Uhtred of Bebbanburg,” she says. “You shall wither.”

Leofric looks at him, horrified. Uhtred has manipulated her to save Aethelflaed, and doomed himself in the process.

 

* * *

 

“Have you lost all sense?” Leofric bites out, trying to keep his voice low as he follows Uhtred back into the hall. He has not been this angry for a long time. “Have you forgotten that she nearly killed you last time?”

“I have not forgotten,” Uhtred says, but he does not sound apologetic. His expression is set, determined. “There was no other choice to be made.”

“We could have fought them, and been done with it!” Leofric’s voice rises without his volition. With effort, he fights to get it back under control. “You heard Haesten, it’s not over.”

“I couldn’t risk it.”

Leofric scoffs bitterly. “So, instead you chose to be cursed.”

Uhtred glances across the hall at Aethelflaed. “Her life is more important than mine. To the King. To Wessex.”

“I know it,” Leofric relents, throat tight. “But not to me.” There is a hint of understanding in Uhtred’s eyes that gives him the strength to continue, even though it may be weakness to admit it. “I’ve watched the life drain from you once. I don’t know if I can do it again.”

Uhtred’s hand finds his, in the shadow of a column, and presses.

 


	5. Episode 5

Leofric watches over Uhtred carefully as they journey to Saltwic, but his health does not appear to deteriorate. There is no deathly pallor to his skin, like last time.

“I don’t understand,” Uhtred mutters, sounding as surprised as Leofric feels. “It came much quicker before.”

They do not count their blessings just yet. To underestimate Skade would be the most foolish thing by far.

“I am not leaving your side until this is over,” Leofric determines.

 

* * *

 

Aethelflaed offers Uhtred a chamber in the palace for his use, and it is here that Osferth finds them, bearing news that there is a female visitor outside the gates. If he notices that they are slightly flushed and breathless, he says nothing.

Leofric looks over at Uhtred. “Is there a chance it could be Skade?”

“I don’t think so,” Uhtred says, shaking his head ruefully. “Haesten won’t give her up without a fight, and I don’t think she will choose to return to me without one.” They exchange a meaningful look. “Ready the horses,” he says to Osferth. “We will ride out to greet this visitor.”

Osferth bows quickly in Uhtred’s direction and backs out of the room.

Uhtred turns to Leofric once the door closes behind the boy. He can read the question in Uhtred’s eyes without him having to voice it.

“It’s okay,” he says, “he knows. He may be a monk, but he’s not blind. Or stupid.”

Uhtred still seems unsettled. It is an expression that looks wrong on him, and Leofric hates that he has been the one to put it there.

“Perhaps we have grown too bold.” Uhtred’s gaze skitters away from Leofric as he says it, fixing instead on the bed they have just shared. “I doubt the excuse that I became unwell and required you to tend to me would hold much weight if we were discovered by someone other than those we trust.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of others who could tend to you,” Leofric agrees, careful to keep his voice neutral but hoping that Uhtred can read his meaning anyway.

This strange longing he feels for Uhtred has burned within him for years, sometimes only embers, but never extinguished. These last few weeks it has been like a furnace has leapt to life between them, but he could no doubt survive it if Uhtred wished to douse the flames entirely.

Uhtred’s eyes snap back to his. “And if I only want you?” There is a defiance in his voice that tells Leofric he understood his meaning.

Leofric looks pointedly between them, quirking an eyebrow. “You have me.”

Uhtred’s eyes fill with nameless warmth. No, Leofric thinks, not nameless—he knows what the word for this is. Just because something remains unspoken it does not mean it isn’t present in every other way.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred was right—it is not Skade at the gates. It is Brida, her expression like thunder.

Uhtred pulls away from them, approaching Brida alone, and Leofric lets him go. Whatever she has to say to him, it is something they need to settle between themselves.

Then her voice carries across the distance, a pained shout into the wind. “He’s dead! Ragnar is dead!”

The words hit like a spear, launching through the air and lodging in Leofric’s chest. He cannot imagine how Uhtred must feel.

He resists the urge to intercede as Brida charges at Uhtred and presses a dagger to his neck, even though his body screams at him to move. If she wants Uhtred to suffer, she will not kill him. She will want him to live with the grief.

She pulls away almost as sharply as she approached, turning back and riding away.

Leofric dismounts and allows himself to walk over to Uhtred. He sees the tears on Uhtred’s cheeks, and more threatening to fall.

“Uhtred, I…” he falters. Any words of comfort he could offer seem inadequate. Silently, he pleads for Uhtred to look at him.

Eventually, Uhtred does.

“My brother is dead,” he says brokenly. “It is her. Skade and her curse. It goes on and on.”

Leofric places a hand on his shoulder and Uhtred does not shake it off. “You are certain?”

“It is her,” Uhtred asserts. “You heard her – what she said to me in the stables? That everyone I care about would suffer?”

Leofric nods. There seems to be no need to deny that he had been listening.

“And now Ragnar is dead. It is no coincidence.” Uhtred reaches up to grip Leofric’s elbow, his hand warm through the fabric of his shirt. “She must be recovered, before she takes anyone else from me.” His eyes are pleading.

Leofric cannot deny him—there are too many people they care about to lose. He knows it is not all Uhtred means, but it is not the time to be concerned for himself.

“We cannot attack them as we are,” he says. “We need more men.”

Uhtred’s eyes are alight with a plan. “Then we go to Alfred and to Aethelred.”

“Is that wise?” Leofric tries. They are outlaws—they cannot just return to the King like nothing has happened.

But Uhtred will not be deterred. “You said it yourself, we need an army. The army is with the King.”

 

* * *

 

If the men have similar reservations, they do not express them. Indeed, if anyone should be reluctant to face those gathered at Aethelred’s estate it is Aethelflaed, but the thought of seeing her husband again only makes her more determined.

It is decided. They ride to the King.

 

* * *

 

As anticipated, their welcome is anything but friendly. Alfred’s guards are waiting as they approach the fortress, their spears at the ready.

“I ought to kill you where you stand, Lord,” Steapa says. His sword is in his hand, but the threat seems thankfully empty.

Uhtred does not seem worried either. “You could try, my friend,” he smiles. “I’m here to see the King.”

They are allowed to pass through the gates.

 

* * *

 

As they wait to be granted an audience with Alfred, Leofric goes over to Steapa, who has stayed with them to keep guard.

“How is the King?” he asks, careful to keep his voice low.

“If you care about that, perhaps you could ask your Lord over there”—Steapa jerks his head towards the table where Uhtred is sitting—“why you’re no longer a man of Wessex.”

“I know what he did,” Leofric says. “God knows, he still hasn’t learnt diplomacy, but at least he knows not to keep it from me.”

Steapa huffs a laugh and then tries to look as though he didn’t. “Who would have thought, eh? You, an outlaw?”

The words still make Leofric flinch a little, but it doesn’t hurt as much as Uhtred’s belief that he would resent him for it.

“Believe me, it’s not where I saw my loyalty leading, either. Until Uhtred, I was expecting to spend my days serving Lord Odda the Younger.”

Steapa doesn’t bother to hide his smile this time. “Being outlawed definitely sounds preferable,” he agrees.

Leofric’s gaze flickers to Uhtred over Steapa’s shoulder. He doesn’t think he is imagining the smile he sees on Uhtred’s face.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, they are summoned to the hall.

“An approximation to a witan has gathered,” Sigebriht says, addressing Steapa. “The outlaws are required.”

Uhtred looks to Leofric, then to Aethelflaed. “We must be without the King,” he says quietly, so only they can hear.

It might be better for Uhtred if they are.

 

* * *

 

They enter the hall to see that Uhtred was right. Alfred is not there.

The only person who believes their news of Haesten’s attack on Aethelflaed is Edward. Considering that the last time he saw Uhtred, he refused to swear an oath to him, he would be warranted in not showing him any kindness, and yet the prince only listens with interest.

The rest of the Lords are not so welcoming. Lord Aethelhelm accuses Uhtred of being a spy and an assassin.

“I should’ve expected nothing different,” Uhtred says derisively.

Then another voice rings out in the hall. “Then let us get to the truth of the matter.” It is the King. “Let us hear exactly why Uhtred is here.”

Uhtred turns to exchange a look with Leofric almost instinctively. Leofric tries to put as much reassurance into his expression as he can. It is at least a good sign that Alfred has not immediately called for Uhtred to be clapped in irons.

“Tell us all what it is you want,” Alfred demands. “You always want something.”

Uhtred is unflinching as he makes his request. “I want one thousand men. One thousand men, and I will give you Beamfleot.”

“I do not need Beamfleot,” the King says.

His refusal is absolute. He will not divide his army.

 

* * *

 

Of the Witan, the only Lord who appeared to consider Uhtred’s request was Edward, so when Leofric sees Beocca approach their table with the prince in tow, he cannot help but feel a spark of hope. He nudges Uhtred’s thigh with his knee to get his attention.

Uhtred follows his gaze. “Well,” he murmurs, a note of interest in his voice.

Osferth, however, is less pleased to see the prince. He tenses next to Leofric, his expression hardening at the exchange between brother and sister.

Over the years, Leofric has learnt to ignore the fact that he is related to them in some small way, or has at least dismissed it often enough that his sister is no longer the first thing he thinks of when he sees Alfred. But it is closer to home for Osferth, and the boy cannot be expected to overcome the injustice so easily.

“If you would excuse me,” he says abruptly, rising from the table and moving away to settle with his back to them. Leofric determines to speak to him later, in private.

Eventually, the prince gets to the reason for his visit. He wishes to understand Uhtred’s plan for defeating Haesten and listens carefully to what Uhtred has to say.

“There’s a thick forest surrounding Beamfleot,” Edward says, the gleam of strategy alight in his eyes. “A good place to hide an army.”

“Yes, Lord. A good place to hide five hundred men, or more,” Uhtred hints.

“Then you shall have them. Set a day for the attack and I will be there,” Edward promises. “Draw Haesten out of the fort. Our army will be hidden in the woods, waiting. You have my word, I swear.”

 

* * *

 

They leave before nightfall, heading as far east as they can before darkness descends.

Leofric pulls his horse level with Osferth, Uhtred on his other side.

“You’re quiet,” he says, hoping it’ll be enough to encourage his nephew to open up. “You haven’t spoken a word for hours.” It is awkward, he knows. He was not made for this.

Osferth keeps his gaze fixed ahead, but Leofric can see his expression shift. “I suppose I should be grateful the prince is on our side,” he mutters, sounding anything but. “It is for the benefit of Wessex, after all.”

“It sits ill with me too, you know,” Leofric admits quietly, so that no one but Osferth or Uhtred will hear. “I don’t begrudge him his status, but he is free to sit and strategise like a king, whilst you are here fighting this war for him.”

“I don’t begrudge him either,” Uhtred grins, looking over at Osferth. “You might be fighting the war, but he’ll have to fight off Aethelwold. I’d say you’re better off as you are.”

Leofric rolls his eyes at him, but in truth, he is glad to have Uhtred’s support. A smile breaks onto Osferth’s face. The injustice, whilst not forgotten, should not gnaw away at him now it has been shared.

 

* * *

 

They set up camp close to Beamfleot, in a clearing amongst the trees.

That night, in their tent, Leofric reaches across the space between them to take Uhtred’s hand. He can only just make out the shape of his body in the dim light, in silhouette from the glow of the fire outside, but he does not need to see Uhtred to know him.

“I made camp not far from here,” Leofric murmurs, “the time we came to spy for news of the princess.”

“As I remember it, I sent Sihtric and Rypere to spy, not you.” Uhtred’s face is cast in shadow, but Leofric can hear the smile in his voice.

“And I remember how glad you were to have me back,” Leofric teases. The memory of that night still warms him, even though they had done nothing more than hold each other.

“You’ll always come back to me,” Uhtred says. The darkness in front of Leofric shifts as he shuffles closer. “I heard what you said to Steapa, about Odda. Even without me, it’s likely he still would have died. You wouldn’t have been his man forever.”

“That’s true,” Leofric concedes. “Then I would have been passed back to Alfred, like the land.” Uhtred’s hand tightens around his. “But we both know that’s not the reason my servitude ended.”

Uhtred is quiet for a moment. “You defied him,” he says, with something like pride in his voice. “For me.”

Leofric cannot help but smile, even though he knows Uhtred can’t see it. “See, you’re not the only one who makes rash decisions when it comes to disobeying figures of authority.”

He feels Uhtred’s laugh as a breath of air against his lips.

 

* * *

 

Haesten’s watchmen discover their camp the next day, as planned. If he expects an attack that night, it will not come.

At dawn the following morning, they ride towards Beamfleot, the fortress rising before them, imposing and forbidding.

It does not take long before Haesten strides out onto the battlements, Skade behind him. She looks down on them triumphantly.

“Lord Uhtred,” the Dane calls, “such a frightening sight.”

“You are a coward, Haesten, hiding inside your fortress,” Uhtred taunts, provoking him to anger. It is not difficult.

Haesten’s expression darkens. “I took your woman.”

“And as long as I live and breathe, she still is my woman,” Uhtred says. Leofric watches the pleased smile on Skade’s face slowly deepen at the words, but Uhtred’s focus is entirely on Haesten. “Fight me,” he says, throwing down the gauntlet. “I’ll wait for you in the clearing there. Bring a guard and no more. Let us make the square and let the two of us fight.”

“That is what you want, Uhtred, to die?”

“What I want is an end to this. What is most likely to happen is you will remain a coward,” Uhtred jeers.

The men begin to laugh as Uhtred’s taunts continue, and eventually Haesten snaps.

“I am no coward, Dane-slayer,” he shouts. “If death is what you want, then you shall have it!”

Uhtred’s plan has worked.

 

* * *

 

They wait in the clearing for hours, the snow beginning to fall around them in large flakes.

“It’s been half a day,” Uhtred mutters despairingly, almost to himself. “He has to come. He has to.”

“He will,” Leofric tries. He understands Uhtred’s reason for wanting this fight, but he looks around the men even as he says it. Everyone is cold and damp and miserable. The early thrill for a fight is gone. Perhaps it would be best to retreat.

His expression must say as much to Uhtred, because after a moment he calls out for them to leave. They have only just started heading for the trees when Leofric hears Osferth shout out behind them.

Leofric turns and sees the cause of Osferth’s panic. Behind them, rising over the crest of the hill, Haesten’s army are riding towards them. “Uhtred,” he warns.

Uhtred turns next to him. There is barely enough time to formulate a plan, but at his command, they put as much distance between themselves and Haesten’s men as they can, their shields raised.

They are surrounded and outnumbered.

Skade, astride her horse next to Haesten, gives Uhtred one final intense look and then rides away. Uhtred watches her as she goes.

“Lord, where is Alfred’s army?” Sihtric asks, as the Danes’ cries increase in volume. They are only moments away from attacking. “Why are they waiting?”

Uhtred looks to the trees, searching. Leofric follows his gaze. It is impossible to tell whether Edward has kept his word, but he hopes they will find out sooner rather than later.

“I want the head of Uhtred Ragnarson!” Haesten shouts.

The words strike something within Leofric. He remembers them from years ago—Ubba and the bargain he had made for peace. Leofric may have protected Uhtred countless times since then, but that had been the start of it.

This will not be the end of it, he determines, as the Danes charge towards them.

 


	6. Episode 6

In the midst of the clamour—the shouts and screams and cries of the men as they fall around him in their droves—the one voice that cuts through it all is Uhtred’s.

“Leofric, they’re here! It’s Edward and his army.”

Leofric turns in a frenzy to see that it is true. Men are charging out of the forest towards them, led by Edward. Leofric is grudgingly impressed that the prince kept his word.

 

* * *

 

The battle is won, and yet it doesn’t much feel like a victory. Too many of their men have fallen, and Haesten has fled with Skade.

Leofric finally catches sight of Uhtred, over on the edge of the battlefield. He is no doubt bloody and covered in mud, but to see him standing is enough. He has only managed to take one step towards Uhtred when he hears his name called out behind him.

Leofric turns to see Finan, crouched by a figure on the ground, his expression wild.

“It’s Osferth.”

Somehow his feet carry him over to Finan’s side, dread sinking like a lead weight in his stomach. Osferth is alive, but sickeningly pale except for the dark gash on the side of his head. There is a worrying amount of blood seeping from under his mail coat. Leofric exchanges a wordless glance with Finan over the boy’s head.

Between them, they manage to bear Osferth into a tent. By unspoken agreement, Finan moves to staunch the flow of blood at Osferth’s side, whilst Leofric kneels next to him, shielding Finan’s work from view. It is for the best that Osferth doesn’t see the wound.

“You’re alright,” Leofric murmurs, combing his fingers through the boy’s hair. Behind him, he hears Finan telling Sihtric to fetch Uhtred.

Osferth’s eyes fix on him, wild and clouded with pain. “Did we win?” he asks, voice croaky. Every word sounds like an effort.

“We did,” Leofric says, attempting a reassuring smile. He is saved from having to find anything further to say by Uhtred entering the tent.

Leofric meets his eyes briefly over Finan’s head. There is not much joy to be found here, but Leofric can read Uhtred’s relief at seeing him anyway. They have spent too long communicating through quick glances and touches for him to miss it.

“Did you see me fighting, Lord?” Osferth asks, gasping for breath, as Uhtred moves over to his side.

“I did,” Uhtred says, looking up from his quick inspection of the boy’s wound. “It was a sight to behold.” His voice is infinitely kind. It is this that worries Leofric more than anything else.

“I feel cold,” Osferth says quietly. Leofric presses a shaking hand to his forehead.

“Because it’s winter, you fool,” Finan quips. They are all terrified and doing their best to hide it.

Uhtred leans over, pressing his hand to Osferth’s chest. “You were a warrior today, Osferth,” he tells him. Leofric cannot bear to look at his expression.

“Am I to die, Lord?” Osferth asks. His chin juts out bravely. “I do not fear it.”

Uhtred reaches up to grip his chin with a fierceness driven purely by fear. “I forbid it.”

“As do I,” Leofric agrees. His smile is weak but it is all that he can muster.

“You dare die, baby monk, and I’ll kill you myself,” Finan says. His voice is too tight for it to sound entirely like a joke, but Osferth gives a small laugh anyway, his breath rattling in his chest.

“Right, I’ll try not to then.”

“We will return to Aethelflaed’s estate,” Uhtred decides. “You will recover there.”

It sounds like an order.

 

* * *

 

After an exhausting couple of hours, Osferth succumbs to sleep. His torso is heavily bandaged, but Leofric takes comfort in watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Eventually, the others drift away until only Uhtred is by his side.

“I can’t lose him, Uhtred,” Leofric whispers. It’s selfish, he knows, after all that Uhtred has lost over the years, but Uhtred doesn’t seem to mind. He presses his shoulder in wordless sympathy. There are too many people milling around them for anything more.

They are still there when Steapa arrives, summoning Uhtred to the King.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred finds him later that night, still keeping a vigil next to Osferth. The boy sleeps fitfully, his brow clouded with pain, but his condition hasn’t worsened over the hours Leofric has spent tending to him.

Leofric looks over at Uhtred as he drops down next to him. “How was the King?”

Uhtred shrugs slightly, his eyes fixed on the boy before them. “The usual. Angry. Condescending. How’s Osferth?”

“Resting, which is more than can be said for me.” It does not sound like a joke even to his own ears. He has tried to pray but could not find the words. It seems he is no longer built for God. The man next to him is as close to a saviour as he has ever found—the only thing worth believing in.

“He’ll be okay,” Uhtred says tremulously, as though he too is trying to convince himself of it. He clasps Leofric’s hand anyway, his grip a strong and steadying presence.

“I shouldn’t have let this happen.” Leofric cannot look at either of them as he says it. “This life was decided for me – I could no more have walked away from it than I could walk away from you. But he chose this. I should have turned him away, kept him safe...”

“You are not to blame,” Uhtred says. He squeezes Leofric’s hand tightly between both of his own. “Leofric, you are not. Sihtric is right, it’s the curse. If anyone is to blame for this, it’s me.”

 

* * *

 

They begin the long journey to Saltwic the next day.

It is the second time in as many months that Leofric has been forced to watch as someone he cares about is borne before him on a cart, lying prone and pale amongst the furs.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred gives Osferth use of the chamber Aethelflaed had granted him, last time they were here. Leofric helps Osferth to the room, but is reassured that the boy manages to bear some of his own weight.

It is here that Uhtred joins them, after only a few hours in the hall.

“How is he?” Uhtred asks, dragging a chair next to Leofric.

“Recovering,” Leofric says, with no small amount of relief. Osferth sleeps peacefully before them. “You aren’t in the mood for celebration either?” He knocks Uhtred’s knee with his own, leaving it resting there against his.

Uhtred looks down at their limbs intently, as though trying to commit the sight to memory. “I’ve come to say goodbye. I must go north, to Ragnar.” He twists his pendant between thumb and forefinger as he says it. “I need to help him find peace.”

Leofric wants to argue, but he knows when to pick his battles. Uhtred will not be deterred from this. Instead, he offers him an apologetic smile. “I would go with you, but...”

“I know. You’re needed here, with Osferth.” Uhtred’s gaze lifts to his face. “And you need to rest.” It would be close to teasing, if his expression were not so beseeching. “As long as I remain cursed, you’re still at risk. You need to take care of yourself too.”

“I will,” Leofric promises. He reaches out to press Uhtred’s thigh, putting as much reassurance into the gesture as he can. “What about Skade? Will you try and recover her whilst you’re gone?”

Uhtred shakes his head. “She’s with the Danes, wherever their army is camped. I cannot reach her alone.” He glances at Osferth quickly, then back to Leofric. “But I do have a plan,” he confides. “It was something you said, the other night, about sending Sihtric to spy.”

“Except the Danes know what he looks like now,” Leofric points out. “That he’s with you.”

“That’s why we have to make it look like he’s not with me anymore.” Uhtred’s smile is one Leofric has seen many times before, when he is certain of a plan working. “You mustn’t say anything to the others though. If it’s to be believed...”

“I won’t,” Leofric assures him. “You have my word.” He takes Uhtred’s hand in his, tracing the line of a fine white scar with his thumb. “Uhtred, just... be careful. You are no safer in the north than you are in Wessex.”

“I’m always careful,” Uhtred jokes, but he sobers quickly at Leofric’s expression. “I will be,” he promises. “I am bound to you – not by fate, but by choice. No matter the distance between us, I’ll always come back to you.”

 


	7. Episode 7

They are gathered in the hall when Uhtred returns. Leofric rises from the bench, eyeing the door expectantly.

“Go to him,” Osferth says, smiling in understanding.

The icy wind sweeps around Leofric bitterly as he pulls open the door, but Uhtred’s eyes are warm when they meet his own. Leofric meets him halfway across the courtyard, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“It’s good to see you,” Leofric says, putting all the relief he feels into the syllables.

“And you,” Uhtred agrees, his eyes roving Leofric’s face as he draws away. “All is well?”

“It is,” Leofric confirms, lowering his voice to add, “All is as planned.” He leads Uhtred towards the hall with a hand on his arm.

They are all together once more, and, with luck, they will soon be reunited with Sihtric.

 

* * *

 

“I know how to kill a curse,” Uhtred informs them over dinner.

“Reaching Skade will be near impossible,” Finan points out. “She’s in the middle of two thousand Danes or more.”

“It can be done,” Uhtred says, pressing his knee against Leofric’s under the table. He does not impart his plan yet, however.

“When will you leave?” Aethelflaed asks.

“As soon as I am rested.”

Aethelflaed arches an eyebrow. “As soon as you are rested, you will walk with me,” she tells him. “That is a command.”

Leofric waits until she has left the table to lean in. “Perhaps she wants us to stay,” he suggests. With the way she was looking at Uhtred earlier, she may be reluctant to part from him so soon after his return.

“Maybe it would be for the best,” Finan mutters. “Uhtred, Sihtric’s departure—”

“Betrayal,” Osferth glowers.

“It has disturbed the men,” Finan continues, with a quick glance towards Osferth. “They feel that you are to share the blame. You and your quest for Skade. Some may not want to go looking for her all over again.”

Leofric has heard the murmurings himself, although the men have refrained from talking openly on the subject when he has been in the hall. No one would dare risk questioning Uhtred’s motivations in front of him.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred and Aethelflaed return from their walk with an unexpected guest. There is something about him that is familiar.

“You were at Dunholm,” Uhtred says. “You’re Aethelwold’s man.”

“I am, Lord,” Offa says.

“He sent you here to do what?”

Offa pauses for a moment. “To kill you, Lord,” he admits reluctantly. The fear is evident on his face.

“Why did Aethelwold send men to kill Lord Uhtred?” Aethelflaed asks. The words are calmly spoken, but there is no denying the command in them.

Offa trembles before them. “Because Uhtred is Alfred’s sword and shield.”

Uhtred does not point out that he is currently a traitor of Wessex, and that his actions are his own. Instead, he gives Offa a message to carry to the Danes.

“You will tell them that Uhtred of Bebbanburg is coming, as a shadow walker, and they will die as my brother died. I will send them all to Niflheim.”

 

* * *

 

Uhtred’s impassioned speech succeeds in rallying the men to his cause once more.

Leofric looks out at the determined faces with pride. The men know that Uhtred is a fierce warrior—he has proven himself on the battlefield more times than Leofric can bear to count—but in his honesty, he has shown them that he is also a great man.

Uhtred catches his eye and smiles as if he knows Leofric’s thoughts.

 

* * *

 

“Brida was there,” Uhtred tells him later that night, his head pillowed on Leofric’s shoulder. “In Loidis.”

“I thought she might have been,” Leofric says. She could no more have left Ragnar to suffer in eternal torment than Uhtred could. “Did you find a way to help him?”

“We did,” Uhtred says. “Brida has gone to rejoin the Danes and discover the coward who killed him. Only when they are dead can Ragnar reach Valhalla.” He is quiet for a while, his fingers tracing mindless patterns on Leofric’s chest. “It was strange, journeying with her again, just the two of us. It reminded me of the time before we came to Winchester. Before Alfred. Before you.” His hand stills. “She was half my life.”

“She always will be,” Leofric says, trying to ignore the sinking sensation in his stomach at where he thinks this conversation is heading.

Uhtred hums softly in agreement. His eyes are serious when he looks up at Leofric. “But you have been the rest of it. Ever since I watched her sail away from me, that day on the cliffs in Hamtun, it has been you by my side.” His lips twitch as though he is fighting a smile. “Mind you,” he says dryly, “if someone had told me back then that I would come to love you as I do, I would have dismissed them as mad.”

“Undoubtedly,” Leofric agrees with a quirk of his lips, though Uhtred cannot miss the way his heart races under his touch. “And now?”

“Now?” Uhtred smiles. “Not so mad.”

“Not so mad,” Leofric echoes.

Uhtred’s smile deepens against his lips when he says it back.

 

* * *

 

They are ready to leave the next day, horses saddled with their provisions for the long journey.

“What are you doing?” Finan asks, seeing Osferth approach with his bags.

“Did you believe you were leaving without me?” Osferth grins. “Not a chance.”

Uhtred looks over at Leofric, as though expecting him to argue.

“He won’t be swayed,” Leofric says, answering the unspoken question. He may not be entirely comfortable with Osferth travelling into danger so soon after his recovery, but Osferth has only become more determined.

 

* * *

 

After their swift departure from Mercia, they wait in the trees on the outskirts of the Danes’ camp in Hunstanestun.

“Someone’s coming,” Finan warns, as the shape of a man nears their hiding place.

Leofric crouches next to Uhtred in the undergrowth, their weapons drawn.

“It is Sihtric,” Osferth says.

Uhtred glances quickly at Leofric, silently entreating him not to interfere. He gives Uhtred the barest hint of a nod in agreement, watching as he rises to greet the Dane.

“You have something to say to me?”

“I do,” Sihtric says. There is nothing in his voice to give him away. “Yield to me,” he commands, pointing his sword at Uhtred.

Leofric fights down the protective urge that rises within him as Uhtred drops his sword to the ground in surrender. Leofric keeps his own sword raised, just in case.

There is no cause to worry. Sihtric remains still for a moment longer, then pulls Uhtred into a hug, sharing in his laughter.

“You were playing us,” Osferth says, dumbstruck. Then, relieved, “My goodness, they were playing us! Why?”

“If you had not believed it Osferth, nor would others,” Uhtred grins, pulling away from Sihtric to allow Finan to hug him.

There is no need for Leofric to share with them that he had known all along—it serves no purpose. He moves to hug Sihtric once Osferth has withdrawn.

Sihtric shares with them all that he has gleaned during his time spent with the Danes. Bloodhair is dead, killed by Skade.

“She knows I’m near?” Uhtred asks.

Sihtric nods. “And she knows of your promise to shadow-walk, but there are too many guards. She is allowed to collect grass and herbs by a tree for her spells.”

“Tell her I’m here,” Uhtred says, “and take her there tonight.”

 

* * *

 

When night falls, they are ready.

Leofric waits with Uhtred at the edge of camp, hidden by the darkness.

“I made a promise to her. A bargain,” Uhtred says quietly, his eyes fixed on the solitary tree beyond. “If she went with Haesten, I would not abandon her. I would come for her.”

“And you have,” Leofric says. He cannot see Uhtred’s expression clearly in the dim light, but there is a tightness in his voice that Leofric tries to ease. “You’ve kept your promise.”

“That wasn’t all I promised,” Uhtred admits. He does not look at Leofric as he says it. “She wouldn’t have accepted my word alone. She wants me. All of me. She had to believe I was willing to give it.”

Leofric reaches out to press his arm, encouraging Uhtred to look at him. “Then let her continue to believe it.”

Uhtred smiles at him gratefully, slow and unfurling. He takes hold of Leofric’s hand and doesn’t let go until they see Sihtric and Skade approach.

One final smile and then Uhtred is gone, joining Skade by the tree. There is nothing to fear in their embrace. Leofric knows how Uhtred feels.

 

* * *

 

It is not long before Haesten realises that his prize is missing.

Osferth and Finan come hurtling out of the darkness towards them, pursued by Haesten and his men. Together, they stumble through the undergrowth.

“There are ships on the river,” Sihtric informs them breathlessly, leading them down towards the marshy land on the shore.

They manage to free the boats, pushing all but one away from the jetty. The Danes will not be able to follow them so easily.

There is just time for them to clamber onto the remaining boat and pull away before Haesten appears through the reeds, his men skidding to a halt behind him. The fury on his face is unmistakable.

“And pull!” Uhtred commands. He meets Leofric’s eyes and Leofric knows they are both thinking of the slave ship. The weight of all they have survived is something they bear together.

Uhtred raises his sword at Haesten in a victorious gesture. They are safe once more.

 


	8. Episode 8

Once Uhtred has committed to a course of action, he is completely dedicated in pursuit of that aim. It is what makes him such a fierce warrior. It is also one of the things Leofric admires most about him.

That doesn’t mean it is any easier to see that single-minded focus being applied to the seduction of Skade.

From his position at the oars, Leofric has a clear view into the shelter, the flaps of canvas merely framing the occupants within, rather than obscuring them. He should look away, he knows, but although the sight is enough to make his stomach churn, there has always been something oddly mesmerising about Uhtred in this state. The expression he wears now is only a parody of one Leofric has seen many times before, but it at least appears convincing enough to bewitch Skade.

When Uhtred moves to pull the coverings closed, he meets Leofric’s gaze for the briefest second. There is an apology in his eyes that Leofric does not need.

 

* * *

 

After what feels like endless days of sailing up the Temes, they finally reach Coccham.

It is good to see Hild again, even if her joy at seeing them is tempered by Skade’s presence. The children, however, are no longer here; sent to Winchester on the King’s orders.

“He continues to damn me,” Uhtred seethes, when Leofric catches him outside the hall. Skade lurks inside, just beyond the doorway. “He has taken my children away from their home and had them baptised.” He spits the final word.

“You were baptised,” Leofric points out, resisting the urge to reach out and place a reassuring hand on Uhtred’s arm, “and yet you remain true to yourself. It takes more than holy water to change a person. When they see you, they will know they are home.”

Something in Uhtred’s expression shifts at his words—Leofric sees it first in the softening of his eyes as the anger drains out of him, soon to be replaced by a gleam that means only one thing. Uhtred has a plan.

“Please tell me you’re not thinking of going to Winchester,” Leofric mutters, already knowing the answer.

Uhtred manages to look at least a little contrite. “I have to,” he says. “I have to see my children.”

He knows Leofric cannot refuse him, no matter the danger. Some things are more important than their own safety.

 

* * *

 

They make their preparations that evening, huddled together around the fire. The plan is daring in its simplicity—Uhtred must be seen to remain in Coccham, whilst the rest of them accompany the priests in their return to Winchester.

“I will follow and find you,” Uhtred promises, keeping his voice low.

 

* * *

 

Skade doesn’t leave Uhtred’s side that night, and, of course, Uhtred cannot ask her to. She is his woman, and has every right to be there whilst she remains so.

It doesn’t mean that Leofric has to stay, though. Here, unlike on the boat, there is a place to escape to. He is all too aware of the weight of Uhtred’s gaze on him as he leaves the hall.

The house he used to think of as his still stands empty. Leofric lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling for a long time, but Uhtred does not come.

 

* * *

 

The convoy heads out the following morning. Leofric has no intention of joining their ranks.

“You aren’t coming with us?” Osferth asks when Leofric bids him goodbye, but his eyes are understanding.

“I can’t,” Leofric says tightly watching as Uhtred disappears into the hall with Skade. “I can’t leave him.”

 

* * *

 

Leofric isn’t entirely certain why he follows when Uhtred and Skade leave the hall together, shortly after the men have departed, heading towards the lake.

He crouches behind the trunk of a tree, hidden from view. He should leave, he knows, when he sees them kissing; when Uhtred tugs his shirt over his head, but then—

He stays, because he needs to see it for himself.

Then he turns and heads back to the village as silently as he came.

 

* * *

 

He can go nowhere else but the hall, now. When Uhtred returns, it is where he will go, and Leofric cannot leave him to face it alone. He sets a fire in the pit and waits.

It has long since grown dark by the time the door creaks open, invading the silence of the hall. It takes all Leofric has not to turn towards the source of the noise, giving Uhtred time to compose himself if he wishes.

Eventually, soft footfalls brush the stone, drawing closer.

“You didn’t go with the others,” Uhtred says quietly. If he had been surprised to find Leofric here, he has quickly overcome it.

Leofric keeps his gaze carefully fixed on the fire before him. “No,” he says.

“I had hoped you wouldn’t,” Uhtred admits. He settles his hand briefly on Leofric’s shoulder. “But I didn’t have the right to ask you to stay.”

“You didn’t need to,” Leofric says, finally allowing himself to look over as Uhtred drops heavily into the seat next to him. Uhtred doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I couldn’t leave.”

“You feared I couldn’t rid myself of the curse?”

Leofric huffs out a breath, caught between a laugh and a sigh. “I feared you may not have been able to rid yourself of _her_.”

Uhtred’s gaze drops to his knees. There is tension in every line of his body. “You saw?”

“I did.”

“I’m not proud of what I’ve done,” Uhtred says faintly, his expression haunted by the memory of it.

Leofric reaches out to press his thigh quickly, but Uhtred seizes his hand and does not relinquish it.

“It was necessary,” he says. He cannot give Uhtred absolution, but he will not find any judgment here either. “You are free of her now.”

Uhtred finally looks up. There is a lingering wetness under his eyes but he manages to give Leofric a weak smile. “Thank you,” he whispers, turning his hand so that their palms are pressed together, fingers curled into a clasp.

 

* * *

 

After a while, Leofric notices that Uhtred is shivering—only lightly at first, but then harder, despite the fire roaring in front of him.

“You need to get those wet clothes off,” Leofric tells him, ignoring the way Uhtred quirks an eyebrow in response. “You’re going to catch a chill.”

He may not have intended the words to sound that way, but he can’t deny Uhtred’s request to follow him into the living space beyond the hall.

Leofric bends to light a fire in the grate, not attempting to conceal the fact he is watching as Uhtred strips off his clothes. Uhtred reaches for him as he stands, pulling him close and tugging at Leofric’s armour with eager hands, the heat of his gaze warming Leofric more than any fire.

They settle together under the furs. It almost feels wrong, lying with Uhtred in the bed he shared with Gisela. Uhtred must sense his unease, because he is quick to curl into Leofric’s side, drawing his arm around him.

“She loved us both,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of Leofric’s ear. “She’d be pleased to see me back to my usual self.”

Leofric pulls him close, muffling his quiet laugh in the crook of Uhtred’s neck. He presses a lingering kiss to the scar closest to his lips, one of the whip marks high on Uhtred’s back, near the curve of his shoulder. His skin slowly warms beneath Leofric’s touch.

“Lie with me,” Uhtred says, quietly, but there is no trace of shame in his voice. “I would wish to forget all else. Skade is gone… She owns me no longer.”

Leofric releases a ragged breath against his skin. It is easier that he cannot see Uhtred’s face. “I’ve never owned much,” he tells him carefully. “It’s not a luxury I’ve ever had. I don’t need to… I have no desire to control you.”

As if anyone ever could, he thinks wryly—not even Skade and her power could bend Uhtred to her will.

Uhtred quells the rest of his argument swiftly. “Is that how you feel, when our positions are reversed?” He doesn’t sound like he believes it for a moment, but Leofric has to answer honestly.

“You know it isn’t,” he says, fully aware that by doing so he has conceded the argument. He kisses Uhtred’s pleased smirk off his lips.

“I am yours,” Uhtred vows when they draw apart, a fierce edge to the words. Leofric will not doubt it now.

The fire burns out, first to embers and then to ash, but the chill of the room does not touch them, safe in the warmth of their embrace.

 

* * *

 

They ride out the next morning, heading for Winchester and the children.

By chance, they come across a group on the road, travelling into town for the royal wedding. It takes very little persuasion for the men to allow them to ride in their carriage, shielded from view.

“I must go to Thyra,” Uhtred says, once they have passed safely through the gates. “Then we’ll find a way to see the children. Seek out the others, let them know I’m here.”

“Be careful,” Leofric warns, reaching across to press Uhtred’s arm.

They may have made it into Winchester undiscovered, but it will be more difficult to remain that way.

 


	9. Episode 9

As usual, Uhtred has chosen the most dangerous path open to him. It should not come as a surprise, and yet Leofric sits in shock as Uhtred recounts his meeting with the King.

“You were supposed to be finding a way to see the children,” he grits out, “not a man who may have seen you dead.” There is more bite to the words than he intends. He is grateful that the others are still at the feast.

Uhtred looks as though he is torn between coming closer and remaining safely across the room. “You’re angry,” he says.

“A little,” Leofric admits, catching himself. He knows the roaring of his blood is not entirely down to anger. “He could have had you imprisoned and executed. Where would we be then?”

“He couldn’t have killed me,” Uhtred says. “Just as I couldn’t kill him, even with a knife to his throat.” He drops down into the seat next to Leofric, his eyes imploring. “But I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Leofric agrees, but he reaches across to press Uhtred’s knee in acceptance of the apology.

“Do you trust his words?” Uhtred asks eventually.

Leofric considers his answer carefully. “Some of them,” he decides. “He’s certainly not wrong when he speaks of your loyalty, bravery and courage. He _should_ be grateful to you. But he’s close to death. It’s easy to say these things now.”

“You think there is more to it,” Uhtred says. It does not sound like a question. Clearly he has come to the same conclusion.

“The bastard thinks,” Leofric reminds him. He is pleased to see a smile tug at Uhtred’s lips at the once-familiar words.

 

* * *

 

Alfred’s fears for Edward are not unfounded.

“Why are we giving him a chance to explain himself?” Leofric mutters as they follow after Aethelwold. “He has never been for Wessex. He is only ever for himself.”

Uhtred looks as though he agrees. “If Edward faces a challenge, it would be wise to know where it will come from,” he says.

 

* * *

 

It seems as though everyone in Winchester is suspicious of Uhtred’s intentions towards the prince, despite the news of his pardon becoming widely known.

Leofric waits until Erkenwald is out of earshot before turning to Uhtred with a smirk. “Reckless, yes,” he agrees. “But not so much a child anymore.”

He thinks of the first time they stood in this courtyard together, at the very beginning of their friendship. It feels like a lifetime ago, with all that has changed between them.

Uhtred’s smile is soft, as though he is remembering it too.

 

* * *

 

It is not long before Hild joins them, perching on the low wall next to Uhtred.

“I have been told, by Aelswith no less, that you are not to wander the palace corridors without a guard,” she smiles.

“Do I not count?” Leofric teases.

Uhtred’s answering smile is weak and fleeting. Hild’s words have clearly struck something within him.

Hild has noticed it too. “Say it,” she murmurs. “Whatever’s on your mind.”

“I have no place,” Uhtred says plaintively. “I’m not a husband. I am not Uhtred of Coccham, not Uhtred of Bebbanburg. I’m not Uhtred Ragnarson.” His lips quirk in a sad approximation of a smile. “I’m not even an outlaw anymore.”

Leofric exchanges a quick glance with Hild. It is a relief to have her with them once more, not least because she is always able to find the right words.

“I would say you’re each and all of those men,” Hild says carefully. “Especially the outlaw, as you’ll never conform.” It is enough to draw a small huffed laugh from Uhtred, breaking the tension.

“At least you’re a free man,” Leofric says. “That is something to be thankful for.”

Despite Alfred’s endless scheming, and the promise he wishes to extract from Uhtred, it is a display of trust that should not be spurned.

Hild nods. “Your path is your own. You have a choice to make, Uhtred. That is all.”

Uhtred’s smile comes easier this time. He reaches out to take Hild’s hand. “Then I choose you as my greatest friends,” he declares. His eyes are soft when they meet Leofric’s own.

“We’ve certainly put up with you for the longest time,” Leofric says.

“You’re a saint,” Uhtred quips. He squeezes Hild’s fingers gently. “And have I ever mentioned that you’re too good a woman for God alone?”

“Once or twice,” Hild laughs.

“Have I ever mentioned you’re an arseling?” Leofric says, rolling his eyes.

Uhtred smiles across at him. “Once or twice,” he agrees.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred has not long returned to the house when Beocca enters, ashen faced. The news he bears throws everything into chaos.

The King is dead. Worse still, without her husband to stand in her way, Lady Aelswith has rescinded Uhtred’s pardon.

“Uhtred,” Leofric tries vainly, “if the promise of the pardon doesn’t hold, you cannot stay here.”

“I will not leave Winchester. I cannot,” Uhtred says. “Not until Edward is king.”

Beocca huffs out a breath, his expression caught between disbelief and understanding. “You promised Alfred this?”

“I did,” Uhtred mutters. “The bastard thinks.”

Leofric cannot help but give him a rueful smile.

 

* * *

 

Aelswith does not move against Uhtred immediately. Instead, she chooses her moment perfectly.

Here, at the King’s funeral service, Uhtred cannot fight back. They can’t cause a scene, or create a diversion in order to aid their escape. Uhtred is trapped, and Aelswith knows it.

“Lord,” Steapa says quietly, breathing down their necks. “I have orders to kill you, should you not leave the hall quietly.”

Leofric glances across at Uhtred, but Uhtred is staring resolutely ahead, his eyes locked on the woman responsible. Aelswith’s expression is one of vindictive glee; the kind she has always reserved for seeing Uhtred’s ruin.

There is nothing to be done. Uhtred slips out into the aisle and leaves the hall, flanked by Steapa and the guards.

Leofric cannot leave it like this. He feels Hild’s fingers brush against the back of his hand in a reassuring gesture. Then he turns and goes after them.

He catches up with them in the corridor leading to the cells.

“Uhtred,” he calls out, before the guards can unlock the door and conceal Uhtred from him.

To his relief, Steapa makes no motion to prevent Uhtred from turning and taking a step closer to him.

“Do nothing,” Uhtred urges quietly. He looks as though he yearns to reach out and press Leofric’s arm, although whether to comfort Leofric or himself he isn’t sure.

Leofric wishes he could do more than that. He just wants more, of everything—to be able to pull Uhtred close to him; to have more time. His mind is full with words he cannot say.

Uhtred seems to know it. “You should get yourselves to safety,” he says instead.

“I’m not leaving you,” Leofric vows. Even if the worst should come to pass, he will not leave Uhtred to face it alone. He has known for a long time that he will be by Uhtred’s side until the end.

“Lord,” Steapa says at last, the order clear.

Uhtred gives Leofric one final lingering look, then allows himself to be torn away.

 


	10. Episode 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it, I finally finished it!

Despite Uhtred’s words, Leofric cannot just do nothing—cannot simply wait around for Uhtred to be executed—and, hopefully, nor can Lady Aethelflaed. Without her, there will be no hope of pleading Uhtred’s case.

To her credit, she does not startle to find him lurking in the shadows outside her chambers when she returns from the hall.

“Pardon me, Lady,” he says, bowing his head, “but I do not believe you can abandon Uhtred any more than I can.”

She does not seem to mind the trespass—listening to his plea with unfailing patience.

“I will see what I can do,” she promises. Then, falteringly, “How is he?”

“Resigned to his fate,” Leofric tells her. “He seems content to let the gods decide.”

Aethelflaed inclines her head gravely. “And you are not?”

“Forgive me, Lady, but this judgment does not rest with the gods.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Leofric becomes aware of the devastation at Beocca’s house, it is too late. The flames have consumed the whole building, leaving only ash and blackened timber in their wake.

Leofric finds Hild staring into the ruins. Beyond them, Beocca sits in an unmoving vigil.

“Thyra?” he manages to ask, dread already coiling tightly in his stomach.

Hild shakes her head, clutching at the cross around her neck. Her eyes are watery when they meet his own. “She is with God.”

“Or the gods,” Leofric says when he finds his voice. He slips his hand into hers, uncertain as to which of them he is trying to comfort.

Hild does not dispute it. “She is at peace,” she agrees. There is a steely edge to her expression that belies the words.

Leofric has seen that look before, and both times they have been staring at a pyre. This is a pyre of a different kind, but the cause is the same.

“Death in battle is easier to bear,” he says quietly. “A warrior fights for reputation. He dies for a cause.”

Hild’s grip on his hand tightens. “A woman dies only for us to mourn her.”

“She is with them now,” Leofric murmurs, watching the smoke curl high into the air.

 

* * *

 

“My mother has been persuaded,” Aethelflaed tells Leofric, falling into step beside him as they head towards the cells. “She has agreed to revert to banishment.”

Leofric has no words to express how grateful he is for her assistance, but the princess does not seem to need them.

Uhtred is not as overjoyed as Leofric to hear the news. He doesn’t seem to count banishment as a blessing, even considering the alternative. At one time, Leofric would have agreed with him, but too much has changed to weight their freedom over their lives.

“You did this?” Uhtred asks, looking over at him. His expression softens when Leofric nods.

“I couldn’t do nothing,” he says, hoping it is explanation enough.

 

* * *

 

Beocca arrives before they can find the words to tell Uhtred about Thyra. It should not feel like as much of a blessing as it does.

Thyra has always held a special place in all of their hearts, but in no one’s more than Uhtred’s. Leofric remembers when he had first discovered that his sister was still alive, and his desperation to be reunited with her.

Now, he will not see her again in this life.

 

* * *

 

Leofric is still there when Steapa arrives. He does not seem surprised to find them together.

“It’s time,” he says, addressing Uhtred as he stands. “I am to take you to the frontier of Mercia, to witness you leaving Wessex.”

Although he shoots a quick glance at Leofric, Uhtred does not argue. He follows Steapa out of the cells and across the courtyard obediently. Leofric follows close behind, willing him forwards—willing him not to cause a scene.

They have made it out of the palace and halfway across the square when the men appear.

“Lord, what is this?” Finan calls out.

Uhtred glances towards them. “I am an outlaw once again,” he says, voice hard and unforgiving. “To be banished or executed.”

“Shall we follow you, Lord?” Sihtric asks. “Leave Winchester for the Danes?”

The words are too loud in the silence, hanging heavily in the air. It is then that Leofric notices they are not alone—the royal family have gathered on the palace steps to witness Uhtred’s departure.

“We appear to have an audience,” he mutters.

Uhtred stills beside him, turning slowly to face Edward.

“I am a free man,” he asserts, the letter bearing Alfred’s pardon pressed between his fingers. “Does Alfred’s word count for nothing in Winchester now that he is gone?”

“Show us one witness who can say this letter was written willingly,” Bishop Erkenwald calls out.

Uhtred shakes his head. “There was no witness.”

Leofric can only watch on in horror as Aelswith commands Steapa to seize Uhtred. The guards grip him by the shoulders, in a more public version of the scene that played out at the Witan.

Edward, unlike his mother, is prepared to give Uhtred a chance to speak, and does him the courtesy of listening to his plea that the pardon should stand.

“But the question remains, why did he choose not to announce it?” Edward asks.

For the first time since speaking out, Uhtred looks over at Leofric, a wry smile tugging at his lips. There is a warmth to his voice when he says, “I have been told many times that I could never hope to better Alfred, because he thinks.”

Despite the crowd, it feels like a moment only for the two of them. It is as though the realisation comes to them at the same time—Leofric sees it dawn in Uhtred’s eyes before he turns back to Edward.

“Perhaps your father chose not to announce my freedom for this very reason. So that the people could witness their new king, Edward, dispensing justice.” Uhtred’s voice softens. “Fairly, I hope.”

Edward is quiet for a long moment, considering. This is his first test in front of his people—the first of many difficult decisions he will have to make for the good of his country. He steels himself, and when he speaks, the words are delivered with a calm precision.

“Uhtred of Bebbanburg, I find the letter written by my father to be true. Alfred’s pardon does stand. You are a free man, able to choose your own path.”

The cheering of the crowd rings loudly in their ears. Uhtred’s hand finds Leofric’s arm and presses in relief.

 

* * *

 

They watch the messengers ride out the next morning, calling the men of Wessex to arms. It will not be long before they follow them through the gates.

Uhtred leans in close, despite being stood next to Leofric. “I need to see my children,” he says. Leofric knows he means for him to come as well.

Stiorra’s delight at seeing them matches their own.

“Father!” she cries excitedly, flinging herself into Uhtred’s arms before wriggling across into Leofric’s embrace.

Her elder brother is more reserved, but no less pleased to see them. Uhtred ruffles his hair affectionately.

“Are we going home, father?” the boy asks.

“Soon,” Uhtred promises. He meets Leofric’s eyes over his son’s head.

They both know it is a vow they are unlikely to keep. Edward will need Uhtred by his side if he is to succeed in the battles ahead.

 

* * *

 

They make camp outside Wicumb, not far from Coccham.

“Who is this man you will kill?” Beocca asks, staring at the vial of Thyra’s blood with mournful eyes.

“I do not know,” Uhtred says. “Yet.”

Leofric has his suspicions—they both do. They have only ever known one man cowardly enough to kill a man in his sleep.

 

* * *

 

Their suspicions are confirmed upon reaching the woods beyond Bedanford, when Brida’s man arrives with the message they have been waiting for.

It was Aethelwold.

“He always was a coward,” Leofric mutters.

“I should have let you kill him in Cornwalum, when we had the chance,” Uhtred scowls.

 

* * *

 

They wait silently in the trees, obscured by the undergrowth, as the convoy of Danes pass by in front of them.

Uhtred’s fingers brush the back of Leofric’s hand, his eyes soft when they meet his own. They have no need for words—there is nothing left unsaid between them, no pledges left to be made.

It is time.

Uhtred settles his hand against the nape of Leofric’s neck fleetingly, his thumb tracing the large scar there in a final unspoken plea.

There is one last stretching beat of silence, and then they charge into the breach.

 

* * *

 

The battle is won, but Uhtred is nowhere in sight.

Finan is the first person Leofric comes across. “You’re wounded,” Finan says, glancing at Leofric’s bloodied hand.

“Barely,” Leofric shrugs, still searching through the trees. “Where’s Uhtred?”

“I saw him leave the battle,” Osferth says, appearing behind Finan. “He went after Aethelwold.”

Leofric claps him on the shoulder in relief, but does not relax fully until Uhtred is once more by his side.

“It’s done,” Uhtred says. “It’s over.” There is no joy in his voice, only grim satisfaction. His gaze drifts to where the men are preparing for the journey back to Winchester. “I must go to Loidis. To Ragnar.”

“I’m coming with you,” Leofric tells him, pressing Uhtred’s hand quickly with his own uninjured one. He cannot leave Uhtred to face it alone again.

 

* * *

 

The stars shine above them as they stand over Ragnar’s grave—just two men and a body below. Uhtred remains silent for a long time, his head bowed.

“I am Uhtred Ragnarson again,” he says eventually, with a sadness that Leofric understands. He is the last of that family now.

Leofric reaches out to take his hand, Uhtred’s pendant pressed between their palms, the cool metal slowly warming. “Let’s go home,” he murmurs.

It doesn’t matter whether that ends up being in Coccham or Winchester, as long as their family and friends are with them. Wherever the future takes them, they will face it together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, no wondering this time around - we're definitely getting a fourth season!
> 
> Whether or not I'll be back still remains to be seen - I've struggled a lot with writing this fic and I'm very tired right now haha, but I may feel differently when the next season airs! Either way, thank you all for reading ♥️


End file.
